Gateways: The Coming of Shadows
by DarthDakka
Summary: Currently dead see chapter 11
1. Prologue: Down the Rabbit Hole

**-Doctor Who Season 4 Alternative Universe/Babylon 5 Crossover-**

* * *

**_Life can be cruel and your world can end in the blink of an eye. One event, one unexpected twist of fate, and suddenly the world as you knew it is gone forever. All that you held dear, all that you held close is washed away into the sea of distant memory. But life goes on... with or without you. In the end, you can only hope that you leave behind some kind of lasting legacy—but all too often, the legacies that we leave behind are not the ones that we intended. Because with every light is born a shadow._ **

* * *

**Part 1: The Fall of Night **

**Prologue: Down the Rabbit Hole**

* * *

"_Truth must necessarily be stranger than fiction, for fiction is the creation of the human mind and therefore congenial to it."_  
- G. K. Chesterton

_"The avalanche has already started. It is too late for the pebbles to vote_._"_  
- Kosh Naranek,_ Babylon 5: Believers_

**(*)**

**March 6, 2005**

As she was half-pulled inside the lift, the stranger let go of her hand and reached over. Rose Tyler looked on as he slammed a button on the controls. Just as the door began to slide shut, she saw the people- they _had_ to be people- dressed up as dummies arrive.

Rose stumbled backwards as one of them reached through the gap in the doors. Their arm flailed around, jamming it open and the man in the leather coat ran forward. He grabbed the arm- and _pulled_.

She winced each time he tugged the offending limb, yanking it repeatedly. What was he trying to do-?

There was a quiet popping sound. The lift door slammed shut and the stranger stepped back. Rose felt queasy as she realized what he was still holding.

"You pulled his arm off!"

"Yep!" he replied, examining the arm. Rose ducked away as he tossed arm over the tiny distance in the lift. She caught it mostly by accident.

"Plastic."

At his voice, Rose looked. It _was_ just a simple plastic arm, like the ones real shop dummies had.

Her brown eyes narrowed as she glared at him, still feeling shaken up and a bit angry. She couldn't help but wonder if this man, whoever he was, was part of this prank. "Very clever, nice trick! Who were they then, students? Is this a student thing or what?"

The stranger turned around and Rose realized that he was older then she'd thought, about twice her age. Now that he was facing her and they were not running, she got a really good look at him for the first time. He had dark, close-cropped black hair and was dressed in a black leather coat. His ears stuck out of a hard, serious face.

"Why would they be students?" the stranger asked. He, for his part, seemed confused.

Maybe he wasn't actually a part of this after all.

Rose shook her head, her blond hair falling over her shoulders "I dunno...!"

"Well you said it! Why students?"

The stranger turned his back on her. Rose floundered trying to come up with an intelligent answer. But despite everything she was still fighting, her voice calming the more she rationalized.

"'Cause... to get that many people dressed up and being silly... they gotta be students."

He grinned at her over his shoulder, "That made sense. Well done."

Rose had the feeling that he actually was rather impressed.

"Thanks," she muttered.

The stranger glanced over at her again."They're not students." He stated flatly.

"Well ... _whoever_ they are," Rose said "when Wilson finds 'em he's gonna call the police."

The stranger frowned at her. "Who's Wilson?" he asked.

Rose blinked, and then stared at him in surprise, "Chief electrician..."

"Wilson's dead."

At that moment, the elevator doors slid open, and he stepped out into a dingy back hallway. Rose stared after him in shock for a moment, before she hurried out after him.

"That's just not funny, that's sick!" she sputtered.

"Hold on!" the stranger yelled. He grabbed her by the shoulders and gently, if forcefully, pushed her to the side. Before Rose could get a chance to react, he pulled something silver and tube-shaped from his leather coat and pointed it at the lift controls."Mind your eyes."

There was a buzzing sound and a glow of blue light. Rose gave a yelp of surprise as a spray of sparks shot from the silver panel on the wall.

"I've had enough of this now!" she called at the back as he hurried off, putting the silver whatever-it-was away.

She followed him, dodging around a rack of clothing. "Who are you, then? Who's that lot down there? I said, _who are they_?" she demanded, growing angry but more determined than ever to find a answer.

"They're made of plastic. Living plastic creatures." The stranger explained, and Rose couldn't help but wonder how he managed to say that and sound sane, "They're being controlled by a relay device in the roof. Which would be a great big problem if I didn't have this."

With that he yanked out a boxy device from his coat pocket. If she hadn't spotted the electronic timer, Rose would have had no idea that it was a bomb.

"So!" the stranger said, opening a fire exit door for her, his voice growing scornful, "I'm going to go up there and blow them up, and I might well die in the process. But don't worry about me, no. Go home, go on! Go and have your _lovely_ beans on toast."

Rose couldn't help but stare at him in bewilderment and a bit of fear while he gently pushed her through the door. Despite the pink sweater, she could feel the cool night air. The sound of traffic echoed down the alley that ran behind Hendricks. Out of the corner of her eye, Rose could vaguely see the flashing headlights of cars as they passed.

"Don't tell anyone about this, because if you do, you'll get them killed," the stranger finished, his voice somehow completely serious despite the craziness of what he'd been saying.

With that the door shut. Rose turned away, completely confused and not sure what to think at all. A second later and the door clicked open again. She turned back and found herself face to face with the stranger again.

"I'm the Doctor, by the way, what's your name?" he asked.

"Rose." She replied automatically in a daze.

"Nice to meet you, Rose." said the Doctor. Holding up the bomb in one hand, he advised, "Run for your life!"

**(*)**

_No one would have believed, in the early years of the 21st century, that our world was being watched by intelligences greater than our own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns, they observed and studied, the way a man with a microscope might scrutinize the creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. With infinite complacency, men went to and fro about the globe, confident of our empire over this world. Yet across the gulf of space, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic, regarded our planet with envious eyes..._

There was a loud _bang_ quickly followed by the sound raised voices, effectively drowning out any more dialogue and breaking the spell of memories. Justin Chapman's hazel eyes flickered towards the wall at the sounds of yet another argument between his younger sister and his mother.

_Why do I even bother?_ He thought with a disgusted sigh, turning off the TV with a click of the remote and standing up from the sofa. At one time their battle of wits had secretly entertained him. He'd even 'helped' start a few of their arguments, but now they had become repetitive and tiring.

His mum and fifteen year old his sister would shout back and forth at each other until his sister went to her room to sulk. Status quo would be maintained, so nothing would be changed since they'd arrived in the States…except that his unfortunate mother might have a few more premature gray hairs.

Picking up his battered leather coat from where it lay on the sofa among several books on military history and strategies, the twenty-year old shrugged it on and walked towards the back door. According to the news for the past week, it had been unseasonably warm for this part of New York State. But, at least as of last week there wasn't a curfew anymore in the States. Some countries were still trying to rebuild.

Instead of taking a side, Justin had instead decided to remain neutral. He knew his mum would win sooner or later. But Justin also realized that he had been no better than his sister at her age.

_Besides_, he reflected, closing the backdoor of the small one-floor house behind him, _conflict on some level is a natural part of life_.

Justin slowly made his way out of this family's tiny backyard. Wind rustled through the forest that surrounded the town. Leaving the grass, he entered the hard-packed dirt alleyway on the outskirts of the small town. The alley's walls were the backyard fences of the rows of houses.

As he neared the end of the alley, broken shards of glass bottles crunching under his shoes, Justin stopped. Glancing up, he absently studied the night sky. There was barely the faint glimmer of moonlight leaking though the layer clouds-not smoke- that obscured the stars.

The faint sound of a woman's voice drifted from one of the nearby houses.

_'Ways of Old to Guide and Guard  
Paths to Bring and Send  
Circles both in Light and Dark  
From Starting until End'_

For a moment he strained his ears, listening, more out of curiosity's sake for anything else. Hearing nothing more, he shrugged and walked on.

He had only gone a few steps when the dim alley began to ripple and distort around him. Before he could react, the alley had faded into darkness.

Justin had the briefest sensation of being yanked sideways, a feeling of somehow going backwards, yet staying still, and an even briefer one of freefalling. Silvery dots danced in his darkening vision as a burning, freezing, bitter cold sliced through him, making his bones feel like they would shatter and his skin would burn away.

Then suddenly, there was the feeling of solid ground beneath him. For a moment Justin merely lay where he had fallen. His vision swam in nauseatingly when he tried to open his eyes.

"_What…the…hell…"_ he groaned.

Sheer force of will pushed him back onto unsteady feet, and he opened his eyes. Instantly, Justin froze.

Had he gone crazy? How could this be happening? _Was_ this really happening? Considering what he'd been through two years ago, Justin thought in a daze, if this was insanity, it was a bit overdue.

He was standing in a huge dark stone cavern. It stretched out for what must have been miles, its ceiling shrouded in shadows.

But that was not what was making him stare. Rather, it was the groups of aliens that were staring back at him, apparently just as shocked to see him as he was to see them. The pale gray aliens were thin, almost skeletal, with nose-less faces and large, budging black eyes.

A dozen yards away, a large group of them were attempting to put out a fire that blazed from one of the many partially disassembled pieces of wreckage that littered the cavern. Justin absently noticed that some of the wreckage had an odd look to them. It was as if whatever they were had been grown rather than built.

As the realization that what he was seeing was in fact real- that he wasn't hallucinating sank in- so did panic and fear. He felt cold again. _Shock_, he thought idly. _You're going into shock._

Somewhere inside his head, a part of himself began flailing in frantic circles, screaming that he was god knows where, with bloody hell knows _what_ and with the same chances of getting home as a fruit fly in hell.

Justin shut out the ravings in his brain. The important thing was not to panic. Panic would be pointless and completely unhelpful. Losing control of himself and doing something stupid at this point wouldn't do him any good. He needed to calm down and think. Realizing that he was starting to shake, Justin willed his body to stop.

A murmur of noise followed by a series of soft chirping-chatters from somewhere behind him made Justin turn around. Just in time to see the gloom gathered near the wall begin to shift and distort.

He caught sight of a shape, twisting darkness and ripping talons. But the thing's most striking feature was its eyes. A collection of stars, smoldering orange set against the sooty black of the shadow.

Yet, while he'd expect the eyes of such a being to convey emotions such as rage, cruelty and a desire to rip him apart, this one's eyes displayed none of that. Justin had no idea what it was thinking. It stood there, surveying him. For some reason, that just made it more frightening.

Justin had a feeling of being an ant beneath a man's stare, under the observation of a power so vast it made him seem utterly insignificant by comparison.

Old memories stirred uneasily in a faint quiver of recognition. Justin couldn't quite grasp what it was, but he could almost believe he'd seen them sometime, somewhere in the past.

But that was _impossible_...wasn't it?

A whisper of half-forgotten recollections from years ago stirred. Thoughts flashed through Justin's mind as he remembered where he'd seen these creatures before. The sudden jolt of realization was enough to make him start.

For the second time in mere minutes, he was forced to question his own sanity. Aliens he could believe in. The hell he and others experienced had taken life on other worlds from the ravings of the tinfoil hat squad or the stuff of science fiction into something very real. But **_this_** was beyond bizarre.

This should not be possible. It should not be happening. As fear clawed its way back into his mind, Justin knew had to do something to pull himself together and quickly.

Willing himself to take action, Justin took a small step, and then another, towards the creatures. He was conscious to try to remain as unthreatening as possible. He knew- from the miniscule knowledge he remembered- that they could end his life in a heartbeat.

As he came to a halt roughly in front of them, Justin gave the trio of creatures standing in front of him a low bow, an action that somehow just seemed appropriate to him.

"Greetings." he said, politely.

**(*)**

From her position in the darkness, the woman's tawny-gold eyes rested on where Justin Chapman had been standing a split-second earlier. After a moment, she let out a sigh of relief that she hadn't known she'd been holding. The last nagging uncertainly gone, replaced with almost giddy happiness. There was always a danger crossing timelines- for her, even more so now.

_Oh, the fun begins_, she thought, her lips curving into with a sly smirk.

A breeze blew around her slim form. The breath of air brushed her light-hued, shoulder length hair. Its exact color was obscured in the night. However, it might have been red.

What she'd done would unleash merry hell in her own universe- but it would make things _interesting_. But from where she stood, it already had.

_Oh poor, poor Justin…you're going to be in a bit of a shock once you realize the truth, aren't you? Of course…you'll have to meet me first_, she thought mischievously, disappearing in a swirl of vortex light, her reason for being here complete.

* * *

"_Light thinks that it travels faster than anything, but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds that the darkness has gotten there first, and is always waiting for it."_- Terry Pratchett

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**Author's note- **

I do not own _Doctor Who_ or _Babylon 5, _just my original characters. I'm not really the 'read and review plz!' type, but there's nothing quite as disappointing then coming back to a story with no feedback.

On a final note, if anyone is interested, there is a bookcover that was made for this story. It can be viewed here: **_www.) deviant/art/The-Coming-of-Shadows-bookcove-123027939_**


	2. Chapter 1: Nightmares and Portents

**Chapter 1: Nightmares and Portents**

* * *

"_No, not a dream; a nightmare. And if sometimes our dreams come true, then what of our nightmares?"_  
- Galen, _Babylon 5, 'A Call to Arms'_

_I know somebody and they cry for you._  
_They lie awake at night and dream of you._  
_I bet you never even know they do,_  
_but somebody's crying. _

_I know somebody and they called your name_  
_A million times and still you never came_  
_they go on loving you just the same;_  
_I know that somebody's trying.  
-'Somebody's Crying',_ Chris Isaak

**(*)**

A Parallel Earth, "Pete's World"

_Rose Tyler, Defender of Earth and companion of the Doctor, darted down a darkened stone passageway. Blindly taking a side corridor, she felt her heart pounding rapidly in her chest as she ran for her life. Suddenly she tripped and fell forwards as the toe of her shoe caught a raised area on the polished black stone floor. Hearing a soft, almost-not there, clicking sound, like a cat's claws on concrete, she scrambles to her feet as clusters of glowing orange pinpoints of light, like miniature constellations of stars, surrounded her. She realized that they are eyes, closing in on her from all sides…_

_Suddenly, she is standing outside, cold rain pouring down on her from the dark clouds above her, a smooth metallic black staff, etched with a silver pattern, held in her hand. _

_She watched as a group of three huge, black, spider-like ships fly high over the steel and glass towers and skyscrapers of London. They moved smoothly, like water over stone, and somehow she knew that they were alive. _

_A group of injured people, dressed in muddy, torn clothing huddled a little ways from her, some of them occasionally glancing fearfully at her when they thought she isn't looking. They were right to fear her, she decided; they were her captives and her superiors don't care about what happened to them, so long as they ceased to be a problem. She could do _whatever_ she wished to them. Rose closed her eyes, realizing how cold and indifferent she feels about what she's doing, but the sensation feels normal, as if she has been this way for a long time. _

_Hearing movement, she opened her eyes to see one of the captives get to his feet, the others watch him with an odd mix of hope and concern. He staggered slightly as he walked towards her, not bothering to pull the sodden, tattered remains of a navy blue, old-fashioned military greatcoat around him. He's oddly familiar to her, but she can't place where, or when she's seen him before. He stops in front of her, momentarily looking into her eyes, almost as if searching for something. When he sighs a few moments later, she assumes that he didn't find whatever it was. Out of the corner of her eye she notices that her captives are watching, waiting for her reaction. When they realized that she was watching them, they cowered from her gaze and look away. _

"_Get away from me," she said to him in a tone of disgust and dismissal that would have made arctic winds seem warm. _

_Instead of listening, he takes a staggering half-step closer. She can now see a kind of madness in his eyes; the madness of despair, the look of someone has seen all they believed in destroyed before their eyes. Despite herself she shivered slightly._

_He said one word, an oddly familiar accent in his voice: "Why?"_

_Seeing her puzzled, bewildered expression he asked— no, begged._ _"Why did you do it?"_

_Rose started, feeling something dark, painful and terrible in her memories beginning to stir. She closes her eyes, trying to force the sudden pounding in her head down._

"_Why, Rose?" The man asked, not seeing the effect that his words were having. "I thought that you loved him…"_

_Her eyes snapped open as she gave an inarticulate howl of fury and pain. Lashing out with the staff, she caught him across the chest, sending him tumbling backwards into the mud. _

"_Shut up!" she screamed, her eyes blazing in anger and dismay because now she remembered what had happened. Memories that she'd thought had been buried and forgotten paraded past her mind's eye. _

_She'd killed…_

_She'd..._

_Oh, god…no, no, no... her mind whispered, horrified._

"_Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!" she half-snarled half-sobbed, her face a mask of rage, desperately needing him to stop, needing to hide, to forget what she'd done. With each second she felt the angry pounding in her head increasing painfully, making her vision tint to a bloody red. _

_As she lifted the black staff, now glowing with a dark golden light, over her head like a hammer, she finally recognized the man. Jack Harkness is still trying to crawl to safety when she brings it down on his head with all the force she can muster…_

With a gasp that would have been a scream with a little more air, Rose jerked awake, staring wildly around her dimly lit bedroom, her heart pounding painfully hard in her chest. After a moment she realized that it had all been another nightmare, almost identical the ones that had been plaguing her for months now, she was at home, safe, she hadn't killed the Doctor or Jack. She wrapped her arms around her middle as she curled in on herself, a small whimper rising from her throat. Rose let the familiar nighttime sounds of the city fill her ears and settle her still racing pulse as she closed her eyes with a shudder, each panted breath burning her lungs.

The thing about recurring nightmares, she had long ago realized, was that you at least knew what to expect. Even then they managed to scare you.

Sleep did not come to her easily now, but she'd done her best to hide it from her friends and family. Rose felt that they worried enough about her as it was. They'd moved on with their lives, so she'd done her best to convince them that she had too. She wouldn't make them miserable on her behalf. It was only here, alone at night, that she allowed herself to mourn in private, to let herself go, allow herself to see all the ways her life could have, might have gone. And part of her hated herself for waiting too long to tell him.

With the soft sound of rustling cloth, Rose slowly slid out of bed, still dressed in the dark blue shirt that she'd worn the day before. Getting to her feet, she padded across the carpeted floor and gazed out the window to stare up at the stars through her transparent reflection, brushing a sweat-dampened strand hair out of her eyes as she did. It was still dark outside, though dawn was stretching its pale fingers across the horizon, making the dark shape of Canary Wharf stand out in stark relief.

Rose stood there, feeling very young and very left behind. She remembered Sarah Jane's words as clearly as if the other woman was standing in front of her: _Some things are worth getting your heart broken for. _She had agreed then and she still did now. Rose had no regrets, outside of not telling him how she felt about him sooner. But no matter what Rose had expected when she finally left him, couldn't, hadn't prepare her for the painful wrenching emptiness that she felt.

Oh, she knew that he wouldn't want her to waste the rest of her life and she'd tried, she really had done her best to try to move on, to live that promised fantastic life, but she couldn't. She knew that there was no place for her in this different yet familiar world but she tried anyway. Her work at Torchwood allowed her to at least pretend that everything was all right, even though it wasn't.

It didn't help that everything about this earth felt …_wrong _in a way that she couldn't quite put her finger on. She'd mention it to Mickey and her mum but neither one of them said that they'd felt or noticed anything. But the feeling had persisted, so she was fairly sure that it wasn't a result of her over-active imagination, like her nightmares were.

Rose ran a hand over her sleepy eyes.

Her sleeping patterns had been very erratic for the past few weeks, leaving her more agitated than rested upon waking. The thoughts that constantly plagued her conscience were less than welcome, adding to her intense nervousness and depression. More and more she was starting to feel like a stranger in her own skin, even if her friends couldn't see it.

Already the details of tonight's nightmare were already starting to fade. For which she was grateful.

The sound of the phone behind her on the bedside table ringing made her jump slightly, jerking her out of her memories. There were only a few people who would call her this early in the morning and almost all of them worked for Torchwood. Blinking back tears that were starting to form at the back of her eyes; she reached over, picked it up and put it to her ear.

"Rose, listen, I know it's early and I'm sorry to wake you up, but you need to come up here _now_," said Mickey's hurried voice from the phone.

She sighted, feeling flash of slight irritation from lack of sleep and wondering what was wrong now. Nearly two weeks ago, Pete -some part of her stubbornly refused to call him 'dad'- had fallen ill. Since then, she had been temporarily placed in charge of Torchwood London, along with few other people who acted as advisers.

With a sigh she asked "Mickey, could you please just tell me what is wrong?" When he told her she almost dropped the phone.

"I think someone's coming through the Void."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Despite a few lingering concerns about characterization, I decided to go ahead and post this.


	3. Chapter 2: How To Make Friends

**Chapter 2: How to Make Friends and Influence People **

_I shall be telling this with a sigh  
Somewhere ages and ages hence:  
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-  
I took the one less traveled by,  
And that has made all the difference_  
- Robert Frost, _The Road Not Taken_

"_The universe is run by the complex interweaving of three elements: _energy_, _matter_, and_ enlightened self-interest_."_  
-Ambassador G'kar, _Babylon 5- 'Mind War'_

**(*)**

The elevator seemed determined to take its time. Rose slapped a palm against the wall in frustration, trying to will it to move faster. "Come on," she muttered, anticipation and fear swirling within her. Moments later the steel double doors slid open with a *ping*. It had barely opened when Rose left the elevator at a run and raced down the hallway.

For a moment she stood in the doorway and stared in surprise. When she'd last come up here, months after the breach had been closed, the room had been empty, abandoned; everything had been covered in a layer of dust. Now it was a bustle of activity, a group of scientists in white lab coats scurrying from one computer to another, frantically setting them up.

Rose mentally grimaced at the sight of a group of six soldiers from Torchwood's private army standing in front of the computers, wearing black uniforms with a small stylized Torchwood 'T' embroidered on them. They were each armed with the most advanced technology, alien or human, that Torchwood could find. Despite the fact that she was one of Torchwood's best agents, and had used weapons on numerous occasions, it didn't mean that she was fond of using them.

Entering the room, Rose dodged around a scientist and hurried over to where her only friend from her original universe, Mickey Smith, stood, staring raptly at the screen that was displaying a series of readouts. Rose was about to announce her presence, but when her eyes flickered over to the computer screen, to the wall where she had 'died' almost two years ago, she sat down hard and stared in disbelief. _  
_  
"About three minutes before I called you we picked up a disturbance and then _this_ happened," Mickey said, noticing her and seeing the shocked expression on her face when she saw that a section of the normally white painted wall was glowing faintly.

"How bad is it?" she asked, fearing the worst, yet, at the same time, hoping for the best.

"Actually…not that bad," he admitted. "No sign of any cracks or anything."

"I don't understand, he said reality would split apart if an entrance opened again," she murmured, looking at the glowing wall in confusion.

"No idea what or _who's_ doing it," Mickey admitted. "We can't seem to get any sort of reading of where it's coming from, but it _seems_ to be stable." He shrugged. "Who knows, maybe it's too small to do anything. It has had two years to heal." Mickey looked like he was about to say something else, when the room was abruptly plunged into darkness as the lights and all the computer screens flickered off all at once.

"What was…" her voice trailed off to a whisper as the glowing section of the wall brightened, the soft glow coalescing into a six foot tall, rough edged, dark gray archway. It reminded her of an open doorway that opened to a bank of swirling misty fog or quicksilver in the bottom of a pan. Rose heard a series of metallic clicks from behind her as the guards undid the safeties on their guns.

Seconds later the mirror-smooth surface of the archway rippled, as if it was liquid and a humanoid figure, lit behind by the light of the doorway, silently stepped out. Barely seconds later, the portal collapsed in on itself with a muted roar and a flash of white light, and the room's normal lights flickered back on.

Blinking her eyes at the suddenly all too-bright light, Rose stared at the dark haired alien standing a few feet away from the wall, taking in his appearance in a heartbeat.

Dressed in a black uniform the stranger was apparently unsurprised, but still wary, at the sight of a half dozen amazed humans armed to the teeth.

Despite this mild guardedness, the stranger excluded a calm, assured air about himself. The uniform he wore was unadorned, without any form of rank insignia or other decoration, except for a pair of silver-colored triangular metal pins on the sides it's high collar. On his left wrist he wore a thick bracelet of black metal and leather, similar to a vortex manipulator. However, it looked more like an oversized wristwatch. In place of a clock there was what looked like some sort of combination lock type mechanism.

He was lean and appeared to be in his early to mid-twenties. What skin was visible was fairer than an average human's, as if he only went outside occasionally. His face was clean-shaven and quite ordinary looking, if bit thin. It was the kind of face Rose knew she could pass any day on the street without really noticing.

Glancing past the soldiers he noticed her. Surprise flickered over his face, and his expression became slightly less wary.

"Hello, Rose Tyler," the new arrival said, "My name is Shaidar Gorthaur."

**(*)**

A disconcerting sense of unreality separated Rose from everything. She stared at the black-clothed figure—who had just stepped from another universe as calmly as she would step from one room to another—in shocked disbelief and deep, aching disappointment. She'd been so _sure_…

Rose blinked and mentally shook away the emotional hammer-blow caused by the appearance of someone who wasn't the Doctor, bringing herself back to the present.

"How do you know my name? Why are you here?" she asked, getting to her feet and gesturing for the soldiers to lower their weapons. Rose was confident in them and their discipline, but accidents still happened. First contact situations, even under normal circumstances, were perilous and nerve- wracking. that he was actually speaking the same language as her helped. still, the fact that he looked human didn't mean anything. The last thing she needed right now was some nervous idiot to accidentally shoot an unarmed alien because of an odd form of greeting or something and start a war.

A cold chill went down her spine at the thought. If whatever race or organization Shaidar belonged to could simply open up a passageway from their universe to this one, whenever or wherever they wanted, there would be little Torchwood could do to stop them.

"Actually, you're the reason I was sent here." Shaidar replied evenly, the caution in his expression and body language fading, now that guns were no longer being pointed at him. His accent sounded weird. British, but nothing she could place; some words he pronounced strangely.

The words didn't entirety make sense to Rose at first, but then understanding slammed into her like a ton of bricks.

No…He...he couldn't mean…?

It took every piece of self-control that Rose had to fight down the strain of a half-dozen tangled emotions writhing inside her. Each coming and going faster then she could name them, threatening to choke her at the possibility of what he was suggesting: a way back to her home universe. Finally, the whirlwind settled on a sensation that Rose didn't at first recognize. It was one that she hadn't truly felt in a long time.

It was hope.

Rose hastily pushed the feeling back. She didn't want to get her hopes up. Not when she might be wrong.

"What do you mean?" she asked him, managing to keep her voice steady, questioning but authoritative.

Still, she thought that Shaidar might have managed to hear something in her voice. Cocking his head slightly to one side, he gave her a mildly puzzled look. In the pale light of the rising sun his eyes seemed to glow golden-orange for just one, brief moment reflecting the light.

For a moment silence hung between them, before he spoke, his voice hesitant, almost apologetic. " I'd prefer to explain in private... it's complicated."

Rose hesitated, conflicted, unsure what to do as her curiosity and desire to return to her universe fought with her sense of caution.

"All right." She said finally, dismissing the guards and the few remaining scientists who hadn't wisely run out of the room when the...(portal? Doorway?) whatever it was… had activated. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mickey give her a look of concern before he turned and left the room.

As the last person left, Shaidar gestured towards a chair behind one of the vacant, computer-less desks. "May I…?"

"Sure."

"So, what is it you wanted to say?" Rose half-asked, half-demanded as she sat down across from him. As she did, she noticed that the silver-colored triangular pins on his collar had the raised image of a black hand on it._ I wonder what it means_ she thought to herself.

At the same time, Rose saw his eyes were not like a human's at all. They were a dark green with orange-flecks. The pupils elongated slits like those of a cat.

"I was sent here to find you. I'm part of an organization in another universe, a Consortium of races who…" for a moment Shaidar paused, as if searching for the right word. "You could say that we're guardians of a sort."

"I'm sorry, but what does any of this have to do with me?" Rose said trying and barely managing to keep the impatience she was starting to feel show.

He leaned forward ever-so-slightly in his chair as he began to speak. This slight change in position caused him to shift out of the early morning sunlight streaming through the windows opposite of the wall where the breach had been, throwing him into shadow.

"You were never meant to be in this universe and your presence here is causing an imbalance- one that could eventually have dire consequences. Not just for this version of Earth, but this universe. That's why I'm here- to offer you a way back, before things become too unstable," Shaidar replied, with such conviction and strength that Rose couldn't help but feel that he was being truthful.

It was so strong that she instinctively checked her psychic barriers. As part of Torchwood's training, employees were required to have at least some level of physic defense, even more so after their contact with the Tuatha'an. After what she almost did.

But there was nothing, not even a telepathic whisper.

"Assuming that if what you are saying is true, if this imbalance is so bad, then why give me a choice at all?" she asked, trying to sound skeptical. In fact, she was badly shaken by all this. She remembered all too well the battle of Canary Wharf and the time she'd accidently created a paradox when she'd changed her past when she'd saved her father in her universe.

In the darkness that had fallen over him, Shaidar didn't even blink. "We're giving you a choice because while it is possible for my associates to fix the imbalance, it would be easier to simply return you to your own universe. And because we've noticed your determination to find a way across what you call 'the Void' yourself…"

"You thought that you would give me a hand." Rose finished, inwardly not entirely happy with the idea that she'd basically been spied on. But, if what Shaidar was saying was true, then under the circumstances, she could understand.

"Exactly."

"So if I want to go back to my home universe you'll take me and if I don't then you'll leave?"

"Yes, that's about the gist of it...there is however one thing, barely worth mentioning. My associates are very curious as to exactly how you wound up in this universe. If we return you to your original universe, all we'd ask in return is for you to tell us that."

"Okay but…" she sighed, letting some of her earlier feeling show. "It's just that I need to have some time to think. Also, I can't just let you roam the hallways while you're here, waiting for me to decide what to do."

Shaidar seemed to muse over this before he shrugged. "That's understandable enough."

Rose couldn't help but stare at him in disbelief. Something that was becoming a bit of a habit where he was concerned, a part of her noted dryly. Out of all the reactions she'd expected, calm acceptance was _not_ one of them.

Seeing the expression on her face, Shaidar gave a small, amused laugh. This caused him to shift out of the darkness.

"Rose-can I call you Rose?" he waited for her to nod, before he continued with "I could hardly blame you for being reluctant to allow a complete stranger to wander about your planet's last, best hope for victory from a alien attack- even if you weren't following protocol. In fact I'd do the same thing in your place. Besides," he smiled slightly, showing even, white teeth "I know trust doesn't just come at the drop of a hat and I've been stuck in places that are far worse than the holding cells your organization keeps for occasions like these."

"How do you know-?"

"So much about Torchwood? When my associates first detected the disturbance here on Earth that your...presence, if you will, is causing in this universe, they decided to look at what organizations we might have to contact. Or if necessary, fight in a last resort. Torchwood, needless to say, was one of them."

"How is your admitting that you'd be ready to fight Torchwood supposed to reassure me?" she asked, before she could stop herself.

The small smile on Shaidar's face slid off.

"Because if we did want to fight Torchwood, then I assure you that we would not be having this conversation." He replied in a calm voice. It was not argumentative or threatening- merely a statement of fact.

**(*)**

"Do you think he's telling the truth?"

For a moment silence filled Rose's office, a decent-sized room located towards the top of the Torchwood tower, its three seated occupants deep in thought. All and all it wasn't really a fair question to ask. Though science wasn't really her area of expertise, Rose knew that Torchwood's ability to cross realities had pretty much happened by accident.

_Maybe_, a part of her whispered, _that's why you asked it. You know that they can't truly prove that Shaidar might be lying._

Rose began pushing the voice back behind the façade of a professional.

_You're still the wolf, aren't you? _The other part of her said to her, even as it was forced back._ Hiding your wounds, crawling away from the pack to die alone-_

"It's possible." Alex Shepard said finally. "What he's describing does seem similar to entropic cascade failure."

Rose stared at one of the few people she called a friend in this reality, and one of the few who knew her true past, in surprise. She wasn't the only one, she noticed absently. Mickey was also giving the American liaison to Torchwood a similar look.

"What's entropic cascade failure?"

The red-haired women shrugged.

"It's a side effect from traveling to alternative realities. If you met another, alternative version of yourself from a universe that was similar to your own you'd probably be fine. However, if you were to go to a reality that was completely different from the one you're from... then that universe has an allergic reaction to the non-native 'you'. The version of you that's affected will start to suffer a physical breakdown at the cellular level due to temporal distortion."

"Well that at least explains why Shaidar didn't mention my mum or Mickey- this universes' version of them are dead." Rose said thoughtfully.

"Rose, please don't tell me that you _believe_ this guy? Especially after what happened with the Tuatha'an," said Mickey, speaking up for the first time.

"Why shouldn't I?" she asked, puzzled. "He's actually _shown_ that the Consortium can cross realities- if he wanted to harm me or anyone else, what would stop him from chucking a bomb of some kind through the portal? He and his associates, whoever _they_ are, knew that I've been trying to cross realities. They _knew_ I'd come running."

"I know, but it…just seems too…convenient."

"Alex, what do you think?"

'"I don't know," Alex sighed. "I think it _is_ a bit weird that this alien shows up the way he did but…I think he's worth listening to."

"How did you know about entropic cascade failure anyway? I don't think America's ever done any projects regarding alternative realities." Rose asked

"I'll tell you if you tell me about what happened with you and the Tuatha'an." Was the straightforward, slightly mischievous, response.

Rose wanted to be surprised by Alex's ultimatum, but she couldn't be. It was Alex, after all, and when she wanted answers she didn't hesitate. From what Rose knew of DESI- Alex's home agency, and of the liaison officer's sister, an agency head- it wasn't surprising.

It didn't make what she was going to say any easier. Even if it had all happened a long time ago.

"Alright then…It was a few months after Bad Wolf Bay and my team and I were assigned to investigate a bunch of UFO sightings. We didn't think that it would turn up to be anything- most of the time we don't. But this time…" she let the unsaid _we were wrong_ hang in the air.

"What we didn't know was that they were telepathic. I didn't have much in the way of psychic shielding, nobody did really, so the Tuatha'an picked up the fact that I was pretty upset about not being able to get back to the Doctor very quickly."

Rose stopped, letting out a breath.

_'You think', the alien voice in her head had said as the silver ship disappeared into the sky, 'that the cage protects the ones you love from what is inside you. You think you can contain it and keep it from doing harm. You think that you are still the girl and not the thing trapped inside. All stories lead into darkness. Sooner or later.'_

"They got inside my head, tried to manipulate me, telepathically suggesting that maybe, with their help, I might be able to find a way back. They…" she swallowed, remembering the constant whispering suggestions that had gnawed at her mind for days, "they were pretty successful. I only really figured what they'd been doing after it all ended."

"Damn." Alex said quietly. "How many people know about this?"

"Not many. The report I wrote did say that they were telepaths and what they tried to do to my team…"

"But not what happened to you," was the other woman's understanding reply.

Leaning back in her chair, Alex began to explain.

"Years ago Area 51 found a device, called a Quantum Mirror. It allowed a person to step from one reality to another. For a long time, we couldn't get it to work. Then one day it just turned on and…someone stepped out." Seeing the exasperated look on their faces she added, "I'm not being cryptic. The rest of the file, including the reason why whoever it was choose to come here, was blacked out."

"Why didn't you tell me about this 'Quantum Mirror'?" Rose asked, trying not to feel like she'd been betrayed.

"Because it was destroyed. The man in charge of the project at the time felt that it was too dangerous to have around and that 'some barriers shouldn't be crossed.' "

"So knowing about the mirror wouldn't help me. All right. But now someone might be able to help. So tell me, do either of you have a really good reason why he has to be lying?"

The two looked at each other, and Rose knew what their answer was even before they said it.

"No."

**(*)**

Working at Torchwood required a lot of patience, something that Rose was being reminded of rather thoroughly tonight. Security procedures were inflexible, whether you were an office worker, an agent or the (very temporary) Head of Torchwood 1.

But after what felt like hours of increasingly paranoid (and paranoia inducing) security measures, Rose entered Torchwood's 'Guest quarters'. Intended to house the occasional lost traveler or supposedly benevolent alien, the underground section was painted the same ever present shade of white as the rest of the building's interior. This, along with the slightly-too bright florescent lighting, gave it a sterile, clinical feel that Rose could not help but dislike intensely.

Passing one of the several guards that she knew were patrolling the area, Rose stopped. Checking that the number on the door matched the one in her memory, she fished her identification out from her pocket, sliding it into the scanner on the wall.

With a soft whirl the reinforced door slid open. The small white room beyond was mostly empty, save for a pair of chairs, a small cot for a bed and a small circular table. As Rose stepped inside, the door closing behind her, she saw Shaidar look up from where he sat at the table, his odd dark green eyes meeting hers.

For a moment, Rose thought she saw a flicker of surprise pass over his face. But it was only for a moment, because an expression of quite expectation settled over his features. There was no eagerness behind it- just the knowledge that she was here to tell him of her decision.

"I've decided to take you up on your offer," she said, finally breaking the silence that had hung in the room.

"Good. If I may ask, when do you wish to leave?" he inquired.

"It depends. How long will I be before I can go home? Is there anything I need to bring with me?"

He gave a small half shrug. "I would advise against taking more then what you need with you. Most of the people who choose to return to their own universe only stay a few days with us."

Rose searched the turmoil in her mind for anything else to ask him. Feeling foolish when she found nothing, she merely nodded.

"Alright then. I'll be back soon."

* * *

**Author's notes-**

Special thanks go out to my betas, Kathryn Shadow and Pandora of Ithilien. Thank you very much.

Alex Sheppard and DESI are property of Pandora of Ithilien. I'm just borrowing them…in a 'parallel universe of the main ones' sorta way...


	4. Chapter 3: The Parting of the Ways

**Chapter 3: The Parting of Ways**

* * *

"_D'Vech Creor chol- 'the love that abides no borders."  
_-Partial translation of writing found on an Anfran love stone

_"I don't know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everybody."_**  
-**Bill Cosby

**(*)**

Cradling the telephone to her ear with one hand, Rose, now dressed in clean cloths, hurried around her apartment as she packed.

After the creation of John Lumic's cybermen, earpods had been abandoned by the world's population. Rose couldn't blame them for that even if she wanted to- they had too much of a stigma attached to them. They'd become an iconic reminded of Lumic's madness and all the people lost to it; dead, or worse, converted into Cybermen.

But more than that, they also served to Rose as another reminder of everything she'd lost. Just like the voice that was speaking with her on the phone, as it had for what seemed like hours.

The conversation…

Well, at this point 'the debate' would probably be more accurate, she thought humorlessly. The debate with her mum had swiftly gone from 'conversational' to 'arguing' with almost depressing swiftness.

Ever since Bad Wolf Bay, the mother-daughter bond between them had been tense. Slowly, without really meaning to they had drifted apart, conversations over almost everything and anything had become shorter and more aloof. When Pete had fallen ill and Jackie had rented a place nearer to the hospital where he was being taken care of, discussion had been reduced to the same, almost impersonal, conversation they would have every week or so.

For Rose's part, she was almost, horribly enough, _glad_ that this had happened. Of all the people that she'd feared would see through her façade, her mum was at the top of the list.

Ironically, enough, this was now backfiring on her in a spectacular manner. Because _someone_, and Rose had a few suspicions as to who, had blabbed about Shaidar Gorthaur showing up and his offer to take her back 'home'.

"But why didn't you tell me!" Jackie Tyler's unmistakable voice rang in Rose's ears, even as she began to load the last few things in the duffel that sat upon her bed. Rose doesn't like what she was hearing—offended hurt, as if she was the one being unreasonable and dramatic.

Rose flinched, the phone sliding with a clatter to the floor. Gritting her teeth, she scooped the blue object back up from its place on the floor.

"I was _gonna_, but **you** called me _first_!" she snapped back.

Was it so much to ask for her mum to be happy for her? Couldn't she see that, choices or not, this was just as painful for her too?

"It's too dangerous! Sweetie, he wouldn't have wanted you to do this! Stay here and have the life you deserve to have Rose; it's what he wanted for you."

Something vicious twists in her chest and anger flooded Rose in a hot tide. The childish terms of endearment had been annoying and embarrassing enough, making her feel like nothing but a petulant teen who didn't know anything.

How _dare_ she try to use him against her?

Rose knew that she should stop, but it felt like everything was happing too quickly. It was too much. Everything was spiraling out of control.

"No mum that's what _you_ want. That's it Mum- you _got_ what you wanted- a second chance with Pete. This is what _I_ want and **I am ****leavin'**." She snarled in a voice that barely resembled her own, something half human and half beast.

"Rose-" came the suddenly subdued, almost fearful tone. Whether it is at her voice or what she is doing Rose doesn't know.

For a split-second in time, Rose Tyler wavered, hesitated. In the space of an indrawn breath, she looked back on the decision that brought her to this. The decision she thought she made in her office, listening to the voices of her friends. A decision that she'd unknowingly made, in truth, the moment Shaidar Gorthaur had told her the reason he'd been sent here. In her heart, the center of what and who she was, at that moment, she'd weighed her choices. The possibility of returning to the man she loved and the life she'd had-

-against the life she saw and knew stretched out before her if she did not.

And because she is Rose Tyler, the Bad Wolf, there was no contest. The choice was no choice at all. There was no contest at Canary Wharf, and there was none now.

The phone clicked as she hung it up with the push of a button and all but slammed it down on the bed. Rose found that she was fighting back tears.

_I should have known better. I should have known that she wouldn't understand,_ She thought, furiously, surging to her feet. Rose remembered all too well what her mum's reaction had been at Canary Wharf- how she had endangered Pete's life by sending him back across the Void to try and get her back.

There was no way her mum could have known what would happen, or what was happening on the other side of the breach. It was only sheer luck that Pete had arrived at **exactly** the right place, at the right time to catch her. A few moments early or late, a few feet to one side or the other…and he would have died.

_You already lost me, knew I'd be safe with the Doctor, but you risked him to get me back! _Rose remembered shouting.

They'd never spoken about it until today. Perhaps both of them had known what would happen if they did, Rose comprehends as she stalked around the dim room, snatching the last few items she needed from the closet and stuffed them in the duffel bag.

She reached for the bag's strap, her fingers brushing over the rough material it was made of, but found that she simply couldn't pick it up almost reached for the bag's strap. Instead, she sat down on the side of the bed, suddenly feeling empty.

She didn't feel drained or tired, which was nice in an odd way. She was tired of feeling angry, tired of being tired. Tired of holding back the tears. She'd never been much of a blubbering girl to begin with. A little emotional at times, but not like so many others her age, that wrapped themselves in dramatic airs, as if it was the latest fashion.

Rose knew that she couldn't just pick up the phone and call her mum back- her lingering anger, which had come and gone with all the suddenness of a flashflood, threatened to surge forward once more.

But at the same time, Rose was unwilling to leave and let the last thing she ever said to her mum be in anger. She wasn't willing to leave her with that kind of guilt. Despite the way that everything had changed between them she owned her mum more than that.

Reaching her decision, Rose stood up.

**(*)**

It was easy to get up to the top floor. Oddly enough, Rose found that she was going to miss this version of Torchwood. Even if she hated being stuck in this universe, she will still, in her own way, miss it and, at least, some of the people in it.

With that thought, Rose stepped into the room.

Of the three people inside, Rose noticed Shaidar first. She saw him look up from his apparent in-depth study of the wall across from where he was leaning against the wall. Oddly enough, Shaidar was standing where, had they been in Rose's universe, one of the two control levers would have been.

Rose felt a chill trickle down her spine at the memory of slowly losing her grip on one of those levers while the pepper-pot form of Daleks shot by as they were dragged into the Void. While Rose was aware that she'd faced the possibility of her own death on several occasions during her time with the Doctor, the thought of falling into the Void scared her more than any others because she didn't truly know what would have happened.

Would she have died, or would she have instead spent the rest of her life, or worse, the rest of eternity there? In all honesty, Rose hoped that she would never find out the answer.

Shaking off her memories, Rose saw Alex out of the corner of her eye. The red-haired woman was sitting with her back to the door and her feet on the one of the tables. Rose hadn't seen her at first because Alex was sitting in one of the chairs located on the same side of the room as the doorway.

Mickey was staring out of the row of windows. Even though his back was to the room, Rose could tell that his arms were crossed over his chest.

Before Rose could do anything, Alex turned around, having seen Shaidar glance in Rose's direction and probably wondering what he'd been looking at.

"You sure about this?" The red-head asked, getting to her feet.

Hearing Alex speak, Mickey turned away from the window. Rose caught the grim expression that he wore before he schooled his features.

"I'm sure Alex." Rose said, reply as much to the question asked as a subtle warning to Mickey that she would not be talked out of this.

Rose saw him sigh heavily as he got the message.

"Alright then Rose. Just…Look, I know that you probably don't need me to tell you this, but be careful."

"Don't worry, I will be."

"Besides that…" The redhead smiled slightly, "I wish you luck. I know that you lost something and I hope that you find whoever or whatever it is."

"Thank you Alex. I hope I do too."

"Rose," said Mickey.

"Mickey."

An awkward pause filled the air.

"So I guess this is goodbye then?"

"Yeah."

"All I have to say is that I hope that you are happy and… I hope you find him Rose."

"Thank you. And Mickey?"

"Yes?"

"When you see my mum again, I need you to give her this." Rose said, reaching into the pocket of the gray colored autumn coat she wore and pulling out the letter she'd written.

Taking the rectangular envelope from her, Mickey gave her a slightly quizzical look. "Why are you giving her a letter?"

"I called her, but she didn't pick up." Rose lied, shifting the duffel bag so that the strap no longer dug into her shoulder. "And I think it would be better for her to get it from someone she knows instead of in the mail."

"Oh." He said, nodding in understanding and pocketing the letter.

After giving them both hugs, Rose walked towards the front of the room where Shaidar stood, patiently watching her come closer.

"Are you ready?" he asked her, his tone questioning.

"Yes." She replied.

Rose watched as he stepped forward to stand besides her. Turning to face the wall where the breach had been located, he began to carefully, but quickly entering a combination of some kind into the wristwatch-sized device he wore.

Now that she had a good look at it from where she stood by his side, Rose realized that her much earlier likening of the device to a 'combination lock' was really quite accurate in a basic way.

But instead of a protruding 'knob', there was an outer ring of dark grey metal that had a series of indentations on the edge, undoubtedly to prove a grip of some kind making it easier to turn. Engraved onto this moveable ring of metal was a series of black markings, each one spaced equally apart, which reminded Rose of runes.

Lying flat against the 'face' of the device was a triangular bracket that rose from the inner, fixed, inner circle of black metal and ended with the triangle's 'base' arching under the edge of the device's outer rim. A small, upward facing rectangular hole was cut near the triangle's 'base'; through this hole, Rose could catch a glimpse of the symbols coming and going.

Rose was wondering what the runes meant, when a flash of light made her look up and see the glowing gray archway-shaped pool appear.

Lowering his arm to his side, Shaidar gave her a small smile and walked up to the portal. He paused for a moment and looked glanced at her, as if to say 'well, are you coming or not?', before turning back to the pool of light and stepping into it.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, Rose stepped into the portal.

Something icy slid along her skin, as if she were passing through a wall of cold water. Time seemed to stretch out; the cold slowly enveloping one hair at a time, shivering over her cloths thread by thread. Reality seemed to stretch around her.

Then she stumbled through to the other side, shutting her eyes as she fought to control the fits of nausea her stomach was wrenching itself in.

Someone gave a short 'Whoa!' and she felt an arm reach around her shoulders, gently but inexorably guiding her forward to sit on the floor.

"Sorry Rose, I forgot about the reaction first-timers get going through dimensional gates. You're going to have to sit down for a moment until it passes." Said a contrite male voice.

Trying to distract herself, Rose gazed around the room she found herself in, taking everything in at a glance.

The largish room had rough dark stone walls and a high vaulted cathedral-like roof. It was illuminated by thin, cylinder-shaped lights artfully built into the walls at regular intervals. The bottom two feet or so of the walls were smooth and etched with a spiky, curved design, almost like a group of black curved swordblades or flames. Rose found the design beautiful in a way she could not quite put her finger on.

Hearing an odd humming sound, she looked over her shoulder. A black metal archway, carved with series of rune-like symbols, some of which were glowing with an orange-red light that reminded her of a hot coal, stood a little behind her. Where a door would be, there was instead at gray glow, identical to the one she'd stepped through.

Even as she noticed this, however, the gray glow collapsed, and the symbols went out. For a moment she stared at the device, which stood by itself in the middle the room, a dull black metal doorway to nowhere.

There was no going back now, even if she wanted to.

"Are you alright?" said Shaidar. He was crouched a few feet away, watching her.

"I'm fine." She replied, starting to sit up. While her stomach had settled, Rose's body still tingled from the inside out.

"Not much of a welcoming committee", she said to no one in particular. Besides the two of them and the gateway, the room was completely empty.

"Trust me; my associates know that we're here." Shaidar responded, as he stood up, sounding slightly distant.

Glancing up, Rose saw a slightly unfocused look in his eyes. For a moment she couldn't help but wonder again if he was telepathic.

Noticing her watching him, Shaidar reached down, offering his hand, the distant look gone from his eyes. Taking it, Rose used it to pull herself to her feet. For some reason the skin of his hand felt slightly odd.

"So...how do they know that?" she asked as they walked towards the rooms' solitary door, trying to sound casual.

"They can detect the gateway opening and the authorization code that I sent through. There are numerous cameras and scanners that are telling the operators that I am who I said I am. Otherwise, there are several hidden weapons in this room that I know of, and probably quite a few that I don't, that would make life very, very unpleasant for any unwelcome visitors." Was the reply.

_So that's what you were sending_, Rose thought. _Does that mean that the arch created the 'gateway' and not your wrist-thing?_

But what she said was, "Your associates don't mess around, do they?"

Shaidar shrugged. His dark green eyes looked her over. "The multiverse is a dangerous place. We cannot afford to be complacent."

"I suppose so." She said.

"You may leave your belongings here. They'll be sent to the rooms that will be your quarters during your stay here. I'll be taking you to speak with the high council."

"Alright." Rose replied, sliding the duffel bag from her shoulder and placing it near the wall.

With a low rumble, the gray metal door slowly swung open. Turning, Shaidar gestured towards the door.

"Please, follow me."

* * *

**Author's note-**

I always found it odd that, despite their differences in opinions, practically every fan fiction out there has Jackie and Rose leaving on rather good terms. I decided to do something else because, (one) it fit the story and (two) I wanted to do something different, both for the sheer change of pace and to show that this is not your average story.

As to how it is not…well, you'll see, because things will only get more... _interesting_... from here (No, all ye shippers, i will not be doing anything...obscene. While I am not as...shall we say, _devoted_ to the whole pairing thing, I do know better than to mess with the fan-preferred couples).


	5. Chapter 4: In Umbris Potestas Est

**Chapter 4: In Umbris Potestas Est**

* * *

"_Get to it, unless you want to be turned into spoo. That was a techno-mage. And that one does not tell fortunes, he ruins them."_  
-Captain Ko'Vin, Babylon 5 - The Passing of the Techno-mages: _Casting Shadows_

"_We're engaged in a very dangerous game, Mr. Garibaldi. In this game, you have to pick your targets carefully, because you only have one shot."_  
-Wade, Babylon 5 - _Face of the Enemy_

**(*)**

There was a solid metallic clank.

The sound of the door sealing behind Rose Tyler and Shaidar Gorthaur echoed around the room as he closed the short response he'd received. In some ways it was almost like telepathy itself, the way his kind could silently communicate mind to mind by encrypted transmissions. It would only be a short time, a few moments or so, before the secondary door in the airlock-like room opened.

Despite this minor delay, anything resembling annoyance was the furthest thing from his mind. Instead, he bathed in a feeling of fierce, exhalant joy. The principals given to his associates by the God of the Void unconsciously echoed in his mind.

_Chaos through Warfare, Evolution through Bloodshed, Perfection through Victory._

However, this emotion in particular did not come purely from Shaidar Gorthaur's sense of satisfaction. Rather, it was a sensation that was his own, yet part of what he'd become. Such a distinction of its source had been barely discernible in the beginning and by now was completely unnoticeable by him.

Glancing over to where he knew Rose Tyler stood, he was unsurprised to see her shifting her weight from one foot to another as she waited. The soft yellow-golden light he saw coming from within her reminded him once more of the immense danger she represented.

A series of bluish-gray readouts flickered across his vision. He gave this- a confirmation that the shield that he'd placed around her minutes earlier at Torchwood was still strong- a seconds glace. Shaidar Gorthaur tried his best not to listen to the sound emanating from her.

The song was never quite the same. One second, it was a woman's voice raised in endless melody, and another Shaidar Gorthaur could hear the howls of a wolf. Sometimes it was even both. Yet no matter what the song sounded like, it remained harsh, grating, like the screech of nails on a chalkboard to his ears.

No other servant of his associates, the ancient race known as the Shadows, would be able to sense either of these. That said, he, Shaidar Gorthaur was not a normal servant of the Shadows.

In an eye's blink, a feeling of vicious rage washed over him. It was not pleasant. Hate sent every particle of his being snarling in loathing at the slumbering Wolf. Zero-point energy surged through the wire-thin network of bio-mechanical cybernetics in his body, urging him towards action, to destroy this _intruder_. It threatened to contort his face into a snarl.

Surprised and more than a little alarmed, Shaidar Gorthaur fought the emotion back, yanking his perception of Bad Wolf back, turning his gaze away as he did.

The shield that he'd placed around her could not be breached by touch, even when weakened. It had never really been intended to be projected around another person.

Developed during the last war, the shield had been created as a personal defense against detection from the Vorlons or their servants. While it was similar to a perception filter, the shield was only effective against telepathic scanning. However, in this instance, it had a major weakness. In its already overtaxed state, any energy diverted for an attack on Rose would be like sending up a signal flare—the shield would rupture and it..._she_ would sense what he was, where she was and awaken.

If it was to happen…well, he would be very, very dead.

Control took a few heartbeats longer then he thought it would. For a terrible split second, he thought he would not succeed.

Everything the Hand felt, saw and heard was reduced back to what it had been in the other universe. A quick look out of the corner of his eye told him that the light turned to a faint candle-flicker; the song, a distant murmur. Fortunately, Rose did not seem to realize that anything untoward had occurred.

Well, _that_ had been a bit unexpected. Or perhaps not.

He stepped through the outer doorway and into the rust-colored stone hallway, Rose following a step or two behind him.

He'd always felt some hated her, despised her, yes, but that is was only the dislike one feels for an enemy. It could only narrowly be called hatred. At the same time, he was not going to lie to himself. It had been pleasant—amusing, even—to watch her and the Time Lord's mistakes come back to haunt them at Canary Wharf. Or to borrow a slightly cruder phrase, 'bite them in the arse.'

Shaidar Gorthaur had seen little justification for the arrogance he'd seen her display from time to time. Yet he still felt a grudging respect towards her- one soldier, one worthy enemy to another. Despite the tremendous threat she represented, he couldn't help but feel something akin to pity.

Had their positions been reversed, he knew that Rose would not feel anything similar towards him. She, one of the self-proclaimed 'good guys', would destroy everything he and his associates stood for. For her love of the Doctor and the backwards, misguided beliefs he'd fostered upon her. And with the power of Bad Wolf, she was certainly capable of attempting such a feat.

That was why the Shadows had decided to lure here to Z'ha'dum, instead of trying to attack her directly. His associates did not know how strong the remains of Bad Wolf were. Very likely, sending a weapon would have only succeeded in awaking up Bad Wolf and bringing her down upon them. Change could not be stopped, but it could be postponed.

Still, he could hardly hold a grudge against her for that, given what is associates' goals were.

A part of him rather liked the idea that the Doctor's salvation from the Daleks proved the reason for Rose's damnation. It had a certain poetic irony to it, and Shaidar Gorthaur had always been able to appreciate irony.

As they stepped out of a lift and past one of the last hidden guardrooms, Shaidar Gorthaur led Rose deeper into the rust-colored labyrinth of reinforced passageways, hidden check-points and transport tubes, always staying on the pre-decided path.

There were a countless number of such passageways and catacombs beneath the barren, ravaged surface of Z'ha'dum, with tunnels leading even into the very heart of the world, and no one knew them all. Not the Heart Guards, not the Drakh 'Priests', not the Zener Scientists, not even the Pale and Silent King himself.

Despite this and the little time he'd spent here, Z'ha'dum was more of a home to him than his birthplace had ever been.

Three years had passed since his accidental arrival on this world. In that time he'd learned much, had time to learn his new limitations, to discover a new prowess. He'd had transformed from someone who never taken a life or even dealt a severe injury, to an accomplished killer who had slain people by all methods imaginable. From just another face in the crowd, to a Techno-mage, one of the Shadow's most deadly servants. Their Hand, their weapon of choice when they needed a scalpel rather than a sword.

As they approached their destination, Shaidar Gorthaur could see a pair of ghostly static-filled shapes near either side of the door at the end of the empty corridor. There was nothing inherently threatening about them. If he didn't know any better, he would have assumed that they were nothing more than interference of some kind.

He would have also been fatally wrong.

"Well, we're here." He said slowing his pace to a stop, turning towards the woman besides him, keeping up the pretence. At the same time, he was on a knife's edge, careful to keep himself from sensing too much. "And it is here that we must go our separate ways. I have duties that I must attend to and the council undoubtedly wishes to question you in private."

In a fight between his associates and Bad Wolf, he was well aware that he would only get in the way. While his transformation two years ago had granted him several advantages over a normal Techno-mage, he still had weaknesses. In terms of 'spell' strength, he was only slightly more powerful than the average Techno-mage. And neither he nor they were anywhere close to a Shadow in power.

The moment those words left his lips he could see her tense almost imperceptibly. Outwardly, this was the only indication that she was trying to hide something. That she was attempting to maintain her dignity and the appearance of fearlessness.

On the bio-metric display hovering behind his eyes, however, he could see her heart rate and perspiration, which had been slightly higher than normal since they'd arrived, jump.

"Relax," he said, giving her a reassuring smile. "As you humans say, 'they won't bite you.' "

With that Shaidar Gorthaur turned and started to walk away, only to stop upon hearing Rose speak, her voice hesitant.

"Shaidar?"

"Yes?" he asked, turning back to face her, letting the slight, if genuine, confusion and curiosity he was feeling leak into his voice.

"I just wanted to thank you for convincing me to come here."

"You're welcome then," he replied, hiding the slight discomfort he felt. Having someone, even if she was an enemy, thanking him for intentionally sending them to their death was an experience that was unique even for him. And it was a slightly disturbing one as well.

She gave him a small smile, before turning and walking towards the door, which opened as she approached it.

As Rose walked past, the two static-filled shapes shifted, making sure not to brush against her or the shield that covered her like a second skin.

Shaidar Gorthaur watched them fall into step behind her as she unknowingly passed them, another full-body shield, identical to his own around Rose and the one he'd woven around himself while in Torchwood, snapping into existence. With a small mental sight of relief, Shaidar dissolved his shield with a thought, the drain on his strength ending.

As the door closed behind Rose, the girl who in so many ways was a mirror to himself, her invisible companions walked wraith-like through the rock walls to either side of the door.

Reaching out, Shaidar Gorthaur, who'd once gone by the name of Justin Chapman, touched the darkness around him. Reaching out, Shaidar touched the Darkness around him. The Darkness imbued him, was a part of him. He was part of it, attuned. Reality rippled around him as he called to it, embraced it, drawing the Dark around himself. Shaidar Gorthaur slipped from reality and through the solid rock wall of the corridor.

**(*)**

Rose fought back the urge to flinch as the metal door clanked shut; to her it sounded too much like a door to a prison, or a trap being shut. The room that she found herself in was similar to the one that she'd been in earlier, except that it was almost double its size. Besides her, it was apparently empty. As Rose looked around her for another door or hallway she noticed a row of small windows in one wall of the room.

Feeling uneasy, Rose glanced around the room again, before walking towards a window, her footsteps echoing lightly around the room. She bit back a gasp of amazement at what she saw.

Rose was looking down on a city like no other she had ever seen. Wherever she was, it was high - higher than any skyscraper she'd ever been in.

Stretched out before her was a vast, bustling underground city of dark-colored stone and metal stretching away into the distance. Towers jutted upwards like spears, lit from far above by a dome made out of a clear glass-like material. Through the dome Rose could see the frail beams of sunlight passing through a turbulent and dusty red-brown sky.

But there was something…off about it. Rose frowned slightly, shaking the sensation away, feeling her brow furrow at the odd, nagging feeling that she'd seen the city before somewhere… that she'd been here before.

She whirled around in surprise when she heard a male voice speak from behind her. As voices went, this one wasn't particularly scary-sounding or threatening, but something about it made her blood turn to ice in her veins.

**-Bad Wolf – **

The voice said calmly, overlaid with a strange arrhythmic sound. A chattering hiss, more insect-like than anything else, sinuous- damp and organic. It was like a whisper.

Some of those words, Rose knew, were not the ones she heard. There were no human words that meant the same thing. But she…she _understood_ anyway. She heard them in her head and her ears.

**-We have been waiting for you, Rose Tyler, Bad Wolf-** the voice said, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Where are you?" Rose demanded as she scanned the dark shadows of the chamber. "How do you know about Bad Wolf?" She felt dizzy as she tried to make sense of it all.

As her words left her lips, Rose saw the air around her distort in clumps. It ripped, rolled and darkened like storm clouds. Tall inhuman shapes forced and faded into visibility.

**-We know you-**

The shapes resolved into four alien creatures. All of them towered a head and shoulder above Rose and if she had to take a guess that they were just over two meters tall. Their two skeletal arms ended in a three-clawed hand. On the creatures' triangular heads fourteen small eyes glowed like coals in the gloom.

Three of them had a spiky bodies as black as night, but one of them, the fourth, was different. It was slightly larger than the others and had an exoskeleton the colour of bleached bone, with dappled grey and purple on its head.

They had an air about them that reminded her, oddly, of the Doctor at times. Those moments when she was reminded of how long he'd been living, how much he'd seen and done. That even if he looked human, he wasn't.

There was something strange, off, about them, Rose thought, but she could not pick out exactly what it was. It wasn't just their bizarre appearance. She'd seen plenty of aliens before.

Looking into those burning eyes, some deep intuitive part of her, a part trembling not with fear but with rage at being deceived, lured here by her own hope and selfishness, understood what they were.

Suddenly, she realized what had been nagging her about the aliens. It was faint, yet it seemed as though their bodies were not quite **solid**. As if each of the praying mantis-like creatures was part of a darkness that clung to them in an ever-shifting shadow. Rose was struck by the sensation that if she took her eyes off of them for even a moment they'd vanish.

They were the darkness, the maelstrom, the night. They knew the secrets of the universe and the races that populated it. They walked among the stars, timeless and ancient; they moved behind the scenes, their presence and influence everywhere.

They reveled in chaos, in conflict, in hate, pain and suffering; it called to them like music and they orchestrated it like music. And she somehow knew that they would not rest until reality played them a symphony of fire.

Rose felt the bile rise in her throat. She watched, a bitter taste in her mouth, her feet rooted to the floor from a deep fear that coursed through her veins, petrifying her. Her head pounded with each beat of her heart as it hammered in her chest like a small fear-crazed animal. The creatures of her nightmares walked towards her, their steps strangely graceful, sure and predatory.

Rose could hear them speaking to her. Images filled her mind, impossibly vibrant and real. They could take her home. She could convince the Doctor to step aside. If she would but do this, they would leave her and him alone from now to the end of time.

She couldn't do that. Rose could see what the price of that would very well be. She couldn't stand the thought of making the Doctor watch the galaxy burn. Sorrow filled Rose as she knew she would die here.

"No."

A sudden wave of blinding pain pierced her behind her eyes, stabbing through her head. In an instant, a cloud rose in her brain and her vision went blurry

Something seemed to unfold in her mind, and where Rose expected dark nothingness to be, there was suddenly golden radiance. And singing, a beautiful howling song. Even as she registered this, the golden light that suffused her mind formed a wolf. Swirling in the eyes of the wolf was the Time Vortex itself.

Rose felt strangely unafraid as she felt her consciousness embrace, twine and merge with this being who was a mixture of both the TARDIS and herself. Until there was no 'I', only 'us'. It was different from the first time, when the TARDIS had merged with her and she with it, absorbing each other and becoming something other, completely new. That had been an invasion, an occupation, being almost removed from herself. This…_this_ was immersion, completeness. This was waking up, coming home. Fire and ice pooled her veins, a beat throbbing through to her brain.

She remembered everything in that instant; looking into the Time Vortex, Satellite 5, wiping out the Dalek fleet, Jack, allowing the Doctor take the excess power from her, while this part of her slept, until it would be needed again.

If anyone had asked her at that particular moment how long she had lived, she would not have known what they meant.

And in this moment of revelation came the understanding that this was _**wrong. **_In all the alternative timelines she'd seen before, none of this was happening. For a moment she could almost sense something. Like remembering a dream that you could not recall when you woke up.

But, she decided, she could examine that later. Right now, she was in danger, and that was all that mattered.

Stretching out with her senses, she saw that the room had been reinforced with the Shadows' power. Once, Bad Wolf knew she could have fought and defeated them. But that was long ago. Her current state, necessary as it was, limited her.

A growl escaped her throat and she tensed, glaring at the forms before her. Each was darkness itself made manifest- it was reminiscent of gazing into the depths of an event horizon. A rage she had never known consumed her.

They screamed back at her, thin screeches that sent new daggers of fear stabbing into her heart.

A twist of the power flowing though her veins and energy swirled around her, protecting her from the orange energy that pounded heavily against the golden barrier spit seconds later.

Before she could react, one shadow scurried forward crossing the distance in an eye-blinking blur. Long curved claws capable of ripping armored bulkheads apart raked and slashed at the golden cocoon. The blow was so fast Bad Wolf couldn't see it fully- the dark one's arm scythed forward in a blur, but even her Vortex-enhanced vision couldn't clarify the movement properly. It was simply too quick, too sudden.

A wave of gold caused will-o'-the-wisps of orange energy to crackle over the shadow's body. A second, lightning-quick blow broke through its defenses. Even diminished, the power sent the shadow reeling back, screeching in pain and anger. Its black body smoked, liquid spotting it.

_First blood,_ she thought with satisfaction.

The other shadows flickered out of view, reality twisting around them as they became intangible. The golden tidal wave of energy crashed over where they had stood moments before-power enough to turn a horde of Daleks to particles of dust absorbed as it collided uselessly with the wall.

With its defenses gone for the moment, she could see the galaxy of molecules that made up the wounded shadow's being clearly now.

Time slowed. Gathering her power, the Time Wolf prepared to…

Her senses screamed at her and Bad Wolf threw herself to one side and into a roll. The white shadow's limbs, covered in dancing wire-thin garlands of orange energy, tore through the spot she'd been barely a heart-beat before. There had been no blur, no sense of motion- it was just suddenly on top of her.

Even being a creature that made Time its plaything, Bad Wolf was caught off-guard. Avoiding the claws reaching to slash her into ribbons, she threw a bolt of gold fire, barely managing to hit the shadow. A quick glance showed that the shadow she'd wounded earlier was beginning to recover and that the remaining shadows were preparing to attack once more. She was holding, barely. She knew that she would have to end this quickly.

_Enough_, she thought, preparing herself. She was the Bad Wolf; she held the power of the Vortex in her hands. She was a Wolf of Time and she would not be tamed.

Gathering as much power as she could spare, Bad Wolf reached out, testing the timelines. For a brief moment, a nanosecond, she studied them, spreading them out in a complex web before her, infinite and impossible and beautiful. All she had to do was select one, and her universe would be quiet again.

She paused for a moment more, breathing, feeling the power beneath her fingertips—and then she made her move.

And everything went horribly, horribly wrong.

One moment she held the power of Time itself, on the verge of wiping out a speck of resistance. The next, her own power was turned against her—reflected into her own head by the shadows and tainted with their own power, until there were no more possibilities, no more timelines to manipulate, no more Wolf howling through her blood; she was just Rose, simple and human, an insufficient vessel for so wild a being. There was nothing in the world but the sound of her own screams ricocheting through her ears, breaking her.

She collapsed, agony lancing through her bones as she struck the ground. The quite click-click-click of the shadow's steps seemed to shatter her skull, impossibly adding to the anguish that ripped through her every synapse. Powerless, the ex-goddess had only the strength to release a ragged sob as blackness descended over her vision and took away all the pain.

* * *

**Author's note: **

_In umbris potestas est_ is a Latin phrase meaning "In the shadows, there is power". Z'ha'dum is pronounced "Za-ha-doom" for those of you who aren't familiar with good ol' Babylon history mentioned here is based upon information found in the _Babylon 5_ TV series, the cannon game _Babylon 5 Wars_, the _Technomage Trilogy _series of books and the _Babylon 5 RPG_.

Special thanks go out once more to my betas, Kathryn Shadow, Rogerd and Pandora of Ithilien.


	6. Chapter 5: The Shadow of the Past

**Chapter 5- The Shadow of the Past**

* * *

_"One cannot have power of that magnitude and still think and perceive the universe as we do."_  
―Kreia_, Star Wars- Knights of the Old Republic 2; The Sith Lords_

"_The First Ones are beyond anything we've ever experienced before. They don't think like we do. They're old, powerful, dangerous and don't like to be bothered."_  
-Marcus Cole

**(*)**

_The watcher floated in the darkness, the galaxy spread out before it. The light of the stars made it glow like a pool of diamonds, but infinitely more precious. _

_Once, it knew, a multitude of Races- the first ones to achieve sentience in this galaxy- had walked among the stars like ageless divinities. But the First Ones had left, going beyond the galactic rim to discover what lay elsewhere in the vast universe. They had known that their time here was over._

_A few stayed behind, most remaining in isolation. Two races among them, however, had found their place among the younger species. They were teachers, guides who would show the way to the next generation. _

_One species believed that all good things came from order and respect of tradition._

_The other First One race- the one that the watcher felt bizarrely connected to- felt that strength came from conflict, from facing great challenges and surviving them. Free will, chaos and survival of the fittest- these were the catchphrases of their ideology._

_It was an outlook that had been given to them by the God of the Void. He had given the Shadows their first principles-_Chaos through Warfare, Evolution through Bloodshed, Perfection through Victory. _This event, in addition to the Shadow's own remarkable survival when so many other races had fallen in that ancient time had convinced them that evolution was keyed towards chaos and conflict. _

_Yet despite this great difference in philosophy, neither race did anything but teach, preach and cajole in attempt to win younger species over to their philosophy; it was merely a competition of ideas, nothing more. Both sides had agreed from the very beginning that they would not directly interfere in the dealings of the emerging races._

_Observing this occur, a strange sensation grew in the watcher's mind. It felt as if it was merely remembering this happening, and that all this had already come to pass. _

_Thousands of years passed in what felt like minutes to the watcher. Or were they hours? The passage of time seemed to ebb and flow, changing from moment to moment._

_Something…odd was occurring among the younger races. The popularity of the Lords of Chaos' philosophy was diminishing, order enforcing itself on the galaxy. The few wars that did ignite were often short and futile, with the younger races joining together to defeat the aggressor. _

_The Lords of Chaos redoubled their efforts, only to find that no matter how hard they tried tarnishing the image of the Lords of Order—the Vorlons— they met with little success. What puzzled the Lords of Chaos even more was how some races were reacting to them on such a massive scale, reviling them as demons. In the face of total defeat, the Lords of Chaos took a long hard look at what had brought them to that point. _

_A terrible rage filled the watcher and those to whom it was connected as they discovered what had occurred. The others, the Lords of Order, had been slowly modifying the DNA and psychic make-up of the Younger Races, taking on the appearance of angels and other religious figures, subtly manipulating them so they'd respond favorably to the Lords of Orders' philosophy. _

_They had stolen their chance to choose freely._

_How _dare_ they do such a thing, how dare they ruin something so precious? By the time most races achieved space flight, they were so indoctrinated by the Lord of Order, so _brainwashed_ that they didn't even consider what they wanted._

_The watcher felt those to whom it was connected to reach their decision- they knew that it would take thousands upon thousands of years to undo what the Lords of Order had done. They too would have to become directly involved in the development of the Younger Races, albeit in a much different manner then what the Lords of Order had. Instead of merely promoting the idea of conflict, they would now seek to create conflict wherever they could. _

_On a red-brown planet near the galactic rim, fleets of Black Ships began to gather in preparation of the war that was to come. _

_There was something important on that ancient world, the watcher knew, someone revered by all of the First Ones. But exactly who this was, it could not remember. It did, however, feel the Lords of Chaos' reaction at this being's decision to avoid contact with them. The watcher felt a pang of lingering sadness, mixed with what could almost be described as disappointment, even as a heady rush of excitement filled it as the preparations for war neared completion. Soon the long dreamt period of conflict would begin. A part of them had lived for this, lived for the moment of chaos, warfare and victory. _

_Still, the Lords of Chaos, and through them the watcher, knew that random attacks would only strengthen their Vorlon-inspired appearance as devils and demons._

_Despite the Lords of Orders' manipulation, the Lords of Chaos were still able to find agents and servants among the younger races. These agents went out among the Vorlon-inspired races, traveling from one civilization to the next, with a single question. This question was one that embodied the philosophy of Lords of Chaos, constructed for the purpose of stripping away the layers of artifice that beings constructed around themselves until one could discover what lay underneath: 'What do you want?'._

_Empowered to grant whatever someone wished for, so long as it would encourage conflict and strife among the younger races, these missionaries of chaos quickly found beings that chafed under the Vorlon-inspired hierarchies and traditions, people who were willing to shake things up for their own gain. _

_From its vigil in space, the watcher observed with a mixture of its own satisfaction and the Lords of Chaos' as wars spread through the galaxy. _

_Confident that their philosophy still dominated the galaxy, the Lords of Order showed little concern at first, believing that these wars would go the same route those that had occurred previously. The Lords of Chaos and the watcher looked on in amusement as the Lords of Order realized that this time the problem would not simply 'go away'. This time the 'troublemakers' were backed by fleets of Black Ships that turned all opposition to dust._

_The Lords of Order, apparently believing that they still held the moral high ground and refusing to give it up, did not become involved with the war directly. Instead, they organized a coalition of races to fight the Lords of Chaos and those under their influence, arming them with advanced weapons so they could do so. By this time the whole galaxy had descended into war. _

_While they were driven back, the Lords of Chaos were not destroyed. In the end neither side could claim a 'true victory'. But the watcher knew that victory had not been the point of the war- only conflict driving evolution forward._

_The wheel of time turned, thousands of years passing in a blink of eye. Time and time again, the Lords of Chaos would emerge from their hidden bases, the majority of their race awakening from a thousand year long period of hibernation, sending the galaxy spinning off into chaos for that brief second- one that inevitably change the face of the galaxy for the next thousand years. _

_Sometimes the Lords of Chaos would 'win', the whole galaxy plunging into chaos and strife while the Lords of Order struggled to restore order. Other times the Lords of Order would prove more successful and the Lords of Chaos were driven back. _

_With each war, the link between the Lords of Chaos and the younger races became stronger. It was because of these agents that the Lords of Chaos were able to bridge the billion-year gap of understanding between the First Ones and the Younger Races. In turn, this understanding gave the Lords of Chaos insight into the ever-changing galaxy. _

_Each time, the loser of the two races was allowed to recover._

_In its place as an observer, the watcher noticed how, each time, the focus of the proxy wars slipped ever so slightly towards the defeat of the other side. The Lords of Order became more prideful and increasingly obsessed with obedience and order, and the Lords of Chaos promoted war and conflict more as a means of defeating the Lords of Order._

_Both sides increasingly believed that the only way to end the cycle was for the younger races to prove definitively that, between order and chaos, one was overwhelmingly superior._

_Each time, the watcher was there, living through the war as the Lords of Chaos did, reveling in each battle against the Lords of Orders' plans, each victory with a burning, fierce, exultant joy. But they did not rejoice because they thought they were innately superior or infallible, but because they knew that they had won through strength, will and cunning._

_Only once was the cycle broken- broken by a threat that caused the Lords of Chaos and the Lords of Order and the remaining First Ones that had not gone Beyond to ally with each other to defeat it. A threat which had almost blotted out the stars themselves, all in the name of the devourers of the dark's hunger._

_The end began quietly, almost unnoticeably. Once more, the Lords of Chaos and the watcher awoke and began to prepare for the war ahead. Forward bases were established, while ancient ones across the Rim were uncovered. Black ships buried deep in the soil of hundreds of worlds twitched, stretched and screamed._

_While the Lords of Chaos had 'slept', the Lords of Order had recruited the help of an older younger race called 'Minbari', heaping a great deal of time and energy on them. Additionally, the Lords of Order had begun to modify vast numbers of the younger races to be used as weapons against their enemy. These telepaths would be able to detrimentally affect the Black ships ability to fight._

_Of course, the Lords of Order did not tell the Minbari or the telepaths what the Lords of Chaos were- or why they fought each other. Instead they claimed, as they had almost from the beginning, that they knew nothing of the Lords of Chaos, saying that their goal was to destroy all life in the galaxy._

Yet another difference between them_, the Watcher thought, disgusted. The Lords of Chaos' servants knew what the war was about._

_Seeing how their foes were willing to change their charges into weapons then the Lords of Chaos vowed that they would do the same. But there was another reason._

_For millions of years, the Lords of Chaos had recruited agents from the Younger Races to their cause- not just entire races, but individuals as well. While the Lords of Chaos rarely had the option of visiting developing worlds, there were always those drawn to power and chaos. Over and over these agents proved to be even more unpredictable and creative in the application of anarchy then the Lords of Chaos._

_Many among the Lords of Chaos believed that this was due to the Younger Races' shorter life spans. Because of this, there was a greater tendency for thought to change and evolve, as old ideas die and new ones rise up with each generation._

_The Lords of Order believed their vast experience and intellect meant that they had nothing to learn from the Younger Races. The Lords of Chaos, on the other hand, knew that the Younger Races understood themselves far better than they ever could. After all, no one knows the hungers and desires of a race better then a member of that race. A few words in the right ears could do more than all the genetic manipulation of the Lords of Order._

_While they had not fallen into the same trap of stagnation as the Lords of Order, the Lords of Chaos had become more reactive than inventive. Most of their progress had become reduced to refining existing weapons and technologies. While they remained innovative, they had little creativity left in them. _

_It was because of this ability to tap into the creative fires of the Younger Races, to listen and take advice, that had allowed the Lords of Chaos to continually evolve- while the Lords of Order were reduced to 'cheating' to keep up. _

_Eager to follow this line of thought, the Lords of Chaos began to devise a way of enhancing the powers of the a Younger Race, allowing them to wield incredible power thousands, if not millions of years before they would have been able to normally- thus giving them the ability to mimic the powers of the hyper-evolved First Ones. To this end, the Lords of Chaos directed the creation of bio-mechanical implants. At the same time however, this technology would exert a subtle pressure on its users, making them more aggressive, more prone to violence and chaos._

_As work on the Chosen commenced, the Lords of Chaos and their other servants began to make other preparations- fleets were quietly brought out of storage and assembled, agents were sent out among the younger races to prepare for the great conflict or to locate possible candidates to become Chosen. Many important agents were dispatched to infiltrate the Minbari._

_Finally, after much preparation, the war began and into the fight came the Chosen. On countless planets, they killed those who worked for peace and alliance, advising those who thirsted for war, and intimidated the masses. _

_Because the technologies they wielded were so advanced that it appeared to the others as magic, they quickly gained a new name- Techno-mages._

_Yet for every event the Chosen moved openly, the Watcher saw dozens of times were no one knew they were even there. They were the bystander that instigated the crowd, the communications officer who misunderstood the crucial order and launched a massive war. _

_Despite this, the war was not going quite as well as the Lords of Chaos hoped. While their Chosen were powerful, they numbered only in the hundreds- and despite their great power, at their core they were ordinary beings. If their defenses were penetrated, or they were caught by surprise, they could be killed as easily as any other person._

_Additionally, the Minbari had proved harder to turn than expected. This was unsurprising, given how the Lords of Order had practically invented the current Minbari culture. _

_During their preparations, the Lords of Order had helped the 'Minbari' in the construction of massive space station. This major supply nexus was the only conceivable staging ground from which to launch direct attacks against the Lords of Chaos. _

_Therefore, it was the perfect target._

_At this point the war was a nightmare for the Minbari- the Black Ships boiling out of the darkness, screaming purple death, before vanishing into hyperspace, leaving only ruins behind. They did not realize that they were being herded until it was far too late._

_With much of their fleet annihilated and no station to replace the one destroyed, the Minbari fell into chaos and their alliance with other races shattered. The Lords of Order, having lost their most powerful servants and with their careful network of tools and agents reduced to tatters, where unable to stop the galaxy from spinning off into chaos. _

_With the war over, the Lords of Chaos began to prepare for their next thousand-year period of inactivity._

_They and the watcher were caught almost completely off guard when the Lords of Order launched several warfleets- each one escorting a vast engine of destruction._

_A planet killer._

_The Lords of Chaos were not entirely sure what had prompted this occurrence. Perhaps the Lords of Order simply believed that they were now ready for a direct war. Perhaps it was something more than that._

_It was equally possible that it was something much less than that. Possibly, in the end it was just the syndrome that had been old when the universe had been young so very, very long ago -'if I can't have it, then no one can'._

_Many Lords of Order -influenced races began hailing, on some level or other, the destruction of 'damned' races as a sign of their own purity and righteousness. _

_The Lords of Chaos and the watcher watched with a feeling of tired, sickened amusement as several of those races were destroyed by the Vorlons, only to be lumped in by those they'd once been allied with as 'unbelievers' and being 'touched by the shadows'._

_Disgusted and sickened by the pointless and one-sided slaughter of the younger races by their brethren First Ones, the Lords of Chaos came to realize how close they had been to walking down the same path as their foes. Faced with the realization of what they'd almost become and how they'd failed their charges, the Lords of Chaos made the only decision they could live with-_

_They would go to war._

_The Watcher saw fleets of ancient warships brought forth from storage in the depths of fortress worlds, or retrieved from hyperspace folds. Each of those bastions of darkness, each world was a mere shadow of Z'ha'dum's terrible majesty and power. _

_In every cycle of conflict with the Younger Races, they had deliberately held back. For all their power, the ships used in the creation their great conflict - the same vessels whose warcries echoed through the nightmares of the galaxy- were of a lesser variety. Those ships were designed to prove incredibly demanding, but not impossible, for the Younger Races to destroy. Evolution could not be served if the crucible of conflict burned everything into ashes. _

These_ ships, in contrast, had been built during the primordial era where the First Ones fought amongst themselves. They had been grown over centuries, built to be piloted by the Lords of Chaos themselves, to fight battles against 'gods'- and win. _

_The galaxy itself shook as two of the most powerful races to ever walk among its stars fought one another tooth and claw._

_It was total war, a galactic apocalypse, a Ragnarok where the gods of Order and Chaos and their followers fought and died._

_Nano- technological plagues, insanity viruses, hyperspace bombs, telepathic weapons and worse- all stored for so long by both sides- were unleashed._

_Fleets numbering into the thousands of Lords of Order and their counterparts' vessels fought to annihilation, the wreckage littering the vastness of space. Armies of billions- constructs, First Ones and Younger Races- battled furiously on worlds around the galaxy until the ground was soaked in the lifeblood of the slain, the soil and rock turning red and black. Oceans changed color, tainted by blood and chemicals._

_Planets were rendered lifeless- pounded into gravel by warships or blown into dust, as if they were clods of dry dirt, by Lords of Order planet killers. Others died under the midnight shroud of Death Clouds, the Lords of Chaos' planet killers, their surface turned into glowing molten rock. _

_Whole star systems were destroyed- or sent spinning off into the cold darkness of the extragalactic night._

_Stars _burst_, novas of color and flashes of multi-colored light erupting in the void._

_Entire portions of the galaxy became cosmic wastelands, places where there were gaps in the field of stars, where nothing would live again. _

_Despite this, the Lords of Chaos and their forces fought on. They knew that this would happen, but they also knew that the galaxy would heal in time. If the Vorlons were to win, the consequences would be a galaxy where nothing ever changed, where the Lords of Order were the Slave-Lords of All. _

_For all their power as beings of light that had transcended base matter, the Vorlons, whose physical souls were woven into the fabric of reality, were being pushed back, their fleets destroyed, their armies of constructs broken. _

_With each push towards Lords of Order's space, the Lords of Order became increasingly desperate. But they had no one to turn to-all but their most fanatical servants had fled. Some had run out of fear of the Lords of Chaos and others had left in horror of what they had unwittingly served for so long. The few First Ones that remained in the galaxy would not aid the Lords of Order in their madness._

_The Watcher observed from its place as the fleets of Black Ships descended upon the Vorlon Empire like an army of dark angels. There would be no surrender, and no retreat here. _

_And there was none._

_It had taken them months and had cost them dearly, but at long last, the Lords of Chaos broke through the last of the Lords of Order defenses. As they circled the Vorlon Homeworld in a vast flock, all that stood between them and a place the Lords of Chaos had never seen, a place where none of their kind had ever set foot, was a single fleet of warships against a armada that all but blotted out the stars themselves._

_But something wasn't right…._

_The Lords of Order were retreating, disappearing into hyperspace and heading towards the Galactic Rim. While mystified, the Lords of Chaos let them go, ships leaving the fleet to watch from a distance and ensure that the Lords of Order did not deviate from their course. _

_Why would they leave their homeworld behind without a fight? the Watcher thought, puzzled._

_What…_

_A sudden burst of energy from the sun of the Lords of Order homeworld grabbed the attention of the watcher and the fleet. Everything clicked into place in one horrifying moment as across the ruins of the Lords of Order's domain, the other suns began to destabilize. _

_Get away…please get away…the Watcher pleaded, cursing its inability to act._

_With a flash of light, the Vorlon Empire was immolated in the fire of controlled supernovas, the black ships burning like leaves in a fiery whirlwind, death clouds flashing into dust like spiderwebs. _

_The watcher staggered back, the chorus of death screams of those like it hitting it like a blow to the gut._

_Darkness fell…_

**(*)**

**Date- Unknown **

She was floating, warm darkness holding her. She didn't know where she was, or who she was, but oddly enough it didn't matter the least to her.

A soft, distant humming sound caught her attention. For a moment she wondered if it had always been there and she'd just become aware of it now. But the sound shifted and the meaning it carried suddenly became clear to her.

**_Chaos is the proper state of being, the state in which all impulse is free to act. Chaos is the way to strength. Chaos is the engine powering life. Chaos finds its fullest expression in times of war. In war all are put to the test. In war those unfit are destroyed. Only in bloodshed can true progress be made, can promise be realized. _**

She listened to its call, letting the dark song envelop her in a warm blanket.

She felt safe. Protected. Wanted. She hadn't felt this way, been this happy since…

Since…

She gave a mental equivalent of a frown. _Since what?_ She wondered.

It seemed somehow important, and it disturbed her greatly, as if she had lost something of great value. Suddenly feeling mysteriously afraid, she frantically searched her mind with increasing desperation, her fear beginning to border on panic. She wasn't sure what she was searching for but…

Reaching past dim, disjointed memories that whispered of fire scorching every cell and tearing through her veins, of a burning, blazing, white-hot pain shooting down her back, she caught hold of… A man in a long brown coat, billowing back, messy brown hair stiffened with gel.

For a moment the song's beat stumbled.

_He was… he was…_the tattered memory slipped away, intangible once more, taking her anxiety and fear with it as the song swallowed her back up.

She sighed, wondering what she'd been so concerned about. Dismissing the thought, she let herself bask in the liquid darkness.

It might have been hours or only minutes later before everything changed. Slowly, steadily, she felt pressure building, pressing around her until discomfort became agonizing pain. She was choking, suffocating, her heartbeat thumping violently in her ears.

Abruptly she felt something nearby tear and she pushed forward, instinctively using her fingers to feel for the rip in the curved walls. When she felt a thin slit in the wall, she forced her fingers through and began to rip, tear at it with strength born of desperation and pain, sending pieces of soft material flying. Suddenly, she half-slid half-fell through the hole and crumpled to the floor, her legs folding under her, as if her bones had turned to water.

She coughed, feeling her body spasm from the expulsion of liquid and suddenly she could breathe again, air rushing into her lungs, but it was different from before. She took another breath, her newly -awakened sense of smell telling her of her own faint scent rising from her skin…and something, no, someone else. She sniffed the air tentatively. There was a myriad of other different scents in the air but the one she smelled was like her…she knew it. But whoever it was smelled slightly different from her. And the smell was old, faint- whoever it was hadn't been in here for some time.

For a moment she laid still in a puddle of thick, warm fluid, her wet hair plastered to her forehead and bare back. She shivered as a breath of cold air whispered against her soaked skin, her eyes flicking open. Weakly, she tried to prop herself up with her arms, feeling her muscles quivering beneath her pale skin as they protested her movements.

She was in a darkened room, but her eyes quickly adjusted until the room seemed brightly-lit, despite the fact that the only light came from behind her and from a series of windows across from when she knelt on the floor. She managed to turn her head around enough to see the inner light of a small transparent pyramid slowly go out and to watch as a large, ripped-open cocoon, made of a woven dark gray material, slowly crumbled into dust. She gazed around the room once more, her eyes flickering over the pillar in the nearby corner.

The large brown-black pillar was covered in an inscription of some kind, the vertical line of orange characters glowing from an internal light. To her surprise, she realized that she could read and understand it, despite the low throbbing pain building in the back of her skull.

_With every light is born a shadow._

Feeling dizzy and altogether too weak for her liking, she slowly forced herself to stand, using the nearby object to haul herself to her feet, her legs shaking and trembling from the strain.

* * *

**Author's note:**

Hey, did you miss me?

Interesting times lie ahead, me thinks…hold on to your hats!


	7. Chapter 6: Bloody Roses

**Chapter 6- Blood and Roses**

* * *

"_History is on the move, Captain. Those who cannot keep up will be left behind, to watch from a distance. And those who stand in our way will not watch at all._"  
-Grand Admiral Thrawn to Captain Gilad Pellaeon, _the Thrawn Trilogy_ by Timothy Zahn

"_Z'ha'dum is the homeworld of the Shadows. _No one _leaves there the same as they arrived."  
-_Minbari Ambassador Delenn_, Babylon 5-Z'ha'dum_

**(*)**

**Date- June 21, 2008 (13 days after arrival on Z'ha'dum)**

_She could feel the warm blood that clung to her began to slowly dribble its way down her face as it stated to harden. With a smirk, she licked a bit away at the corner of her mouth, the warm metallic taste sending shivers of ecstasy down her spine. She never felt more alive than at that moment, drenched and caked in the blood of the fallen around her._

"_Having fun, Rose?", said a woman's voice, tinted with an unfamiliar accent._

Opening her eyes, she blinked sleepily at the ceiling. Pushing herself upright in the bed, she looked around the small room.

_Where am I?_

Nothing answered, and an instant later a far larger question loomed up and eclipsed the first.

_Who am I?_

A wave of panic rose deep within her. No matter how hard she hunted in the dark recesses of her mind, she could not find her name. There were memories but they were few, brief flashes at the most. None were in any coherent order and were all just as confusing. Every time she tried to examine them further it was like…like trying to grasp a wisp of smoke.

Then suddenly, by accident, she found…a memory (a dream?) that crumbled even as she tried to grasp it. She seized it, holding on to it with the mad desperation of a drowning woman.

_A battlefield…(where?)_

…_a woman's voice…(who?)_

**A name.**

_Rose? Am I Rose?_

The woman had little time to ponder this. Off to her side there was a quiet, metallic click, followed by a mechanical whirling that stuck her as menacing. Turning her head, she saw that the door was open and that she was no longer alone.

_Pain. Pain is her beginning and her end. Her senses are leaden and dull. _Cold _restraints on her arms and legs hold her down on a table. Agony ripped down her back as a blade _slices _in to her once more. Then it's taken away. She _tenses_, dreading anything new. _Lines of fire burning. _Something(_coldwet_) touches her back. She struggles, crying out as it squirms into her skin. Thin faces with dark eyes that are far too big watch her._

Power surged through her body, thrumming with every quick beat of her heart. She spun off of the bed into a defensive crouch, muscles tense, her lips pulled back in a snarl, a growl rising from her throat. There was no other word for it —the tone was savage, and unmistakably a warning.

A bolt of hot red fire flew from her hand before she had even finished moving, burning a hole the size of her fist just above the head of the alien which had just stepped through the door. The alien had pasty gray skin, skeletal features and large black eyes that almost made it look like it was sad.

Almost.

Time seemed to slow as both froze in surprise. The woman's eyes darted from her outstretched hand to the burnt hole. _How did I _do _that?_

The alien stumbled back, an almost comical expression of fear on its face. She sprinted forward, only to have the door slam down in her face. Filled with rage and desperation, she tried the controls place to the side of the door. They yielded nothing, she beat her fists on the metal slab, trying to summon up the fire.

Finally, she stopped, exhausted. The woman turned away from the door, making an animal sound, part fury part frustration. As she did so, she realized for the first time that she was dressed in a gray uniform, consisting of a shirt and pants.

Embarrassment and anger flashed through her and she felt her face grow hot. Not only had she blacked out and been carried here, but she had been _dressed_ by someone else, like a…_child!_ No, a helpless _baby!_

She gazed around the room, a feeling of disquiet filling her, along with one of tiredness. Noticing a small mirror bolted into a wall, she walked towards it, her bare feet quiet on polished stone floor.

She blinked as her reflection came into view, brow furrowing slightly as she took in her own appearance. Gold flecks glinted in her amber slit-pupil eyes. Each eye was rimmed with black markings, stared back at her from a gently oval face framed by a mane of golden-brown hair. Pale skin, full lips, slight overbite, smallish nose, delicate features, eyebrows just slightly too dark to match her hair.

_Huh. Interesting._

Noticing an odd collection of brown lines on the side of her neck, she lowered the shoulder of the loose gray shirt, studying the light pattern on her skin, like an elaborate tattoo. Pulling the shirt aside, she turned around, twisted her neck to catch a glimpse of her back in the mirror, finding that the faint pattern ran the length of her spine, lines branching off from the center cluster like those of a tree.

A shudder ran through her at the memory of lines of fire burning her, burning under her skin, of the implants worming into the tiny tunnels, deeper and deeper, cold and thin and wet. Almost hastily, she pulled the gray shirt back down.

She realized that she felt different from…_before_. It was a strange sensation, a faint recollection of somehow being not the same. Though how this could be so was beyond her. She'd just been 'born', hadn't she? How _could_ she know what it was like to feel any different?

After a moment she brushed it aside without a thought. She could faintly hear some kind of song, similar to the one she'd listened to earlier – on an instinctual level she knew it wasn't an auditory phenomenon, but something else entirely. It was the Eye, the vast network of techno-organic computers that ran beneath the surface of Z'ha'dum, built fifty thousand years ago.

As if remembering this was a trigger, more memories, ideas, concepts, powers unfolded in her mind, vast and terrible and beautiful. All of them were utterly strange to her, yet at the same time, they somehow felt _right_. Recollections of a billion years of evolution through bloodshed, of burning away that which did not work the way a forest fire clears the way for new growth, filled her memory. But these memories were indistinct- like a summary, rather than a full story.

She knew what the lines on her back were now- Techno-mage cybernetics. This only deepened her feeling of disquiet- while the tech used zero-point energy as an almost limitless power source, it also used the mage's own energy in order to sustain itself. The greater the exertion or the less experience the mage had with wielding their powers, the heavier the drain.

And _that_ was the source of her unease. The woman knew now that it should not have been possible for her to conjure that fireball. Techno-mages often took anywhere from a month to _years_ to learn how to use their powers and develop their unique 'spell language', the series of mental commands and visualized images used to control the implant's powers. Yet she'd somehow accessed the power within herself without trying.

Gazing back again at the reflection of her face, she wondered again- _What am I?_

She did not recognize her species from the memories in her head, although she did mostly resemble a Terran…

Catching sight of the door in the mirror, the woman reflected that at least she knew how she'd throw fire.

A script appeared on the inside of the corner of her vision, the letters written in orange.

**(-Greetings. May I enter?-)**

As thankful as she was for the distraction, worry bloomed inside her. Studying the words that gave the impression of being written in the air in front of her, she wondered how she should respond. She knew that what she was seeing was a message, she didn't know how she was supposed to reply. She almost called out, when suddenly she _knew_ how to compose a response. It was just that simple, like the way she knew how to walk or breathe.

_**(Yes),**_she responded. The trickle of… _rightness_ she felt at seeing her answer was written in gold, baffled her. But only for a moment.

Hearing the door open, she smoothly rose to her feet and turned to face the sound. _Perhaps_, she mused,_._

A faint scent filled the room. She tried to describe it, but found that she could not. There was no real description for it. It was like trying to describe what the color red smelled like.

Her thoughts ground to a halt, her breath catching in her throat. Seven pairs of glowing eyes studied her. She remembered legends of the Younger Races speaking of how the Shadows could look into a person's soul; and with their ability to see the electrical activity in the brain and the flow of quantum events, possible futures, this was quite accurate.

The Shadow spoke to her.

She heard and yet she didn't. It was more like simply knowing what was said, down to her very bones, than like hearing it with her ears. Yet, at the same time, she knew it was not, could not be telepathy. The Shadows were not telepathic and never had been- her memories told her that much.

**The voice – if it could be called that_-_ was soft and feminine, if a bit young to the woman's ear. **

**-Do you know what I am?-**

"Yes" she said thinly in a voice she'd never really used before. She cleared her throat and repeated herself, her voice stronger than before.

**Pleased, the Shadow responded stating that she could call her by a name, Anna, asking if she had any questions.**

Despite the fact that she knew that the Shadows viewed those who served them and the younger races as a whole as junior partners instead of mere servants or children, she couldn't help but feel honored that a Shadow would grace her with its presence.

And incredibility nervous.

"Yes…I…um…I…" Aware of the Shadow's, Anna's, patient orange-gold gaze, she felt her face flush with warmth. Chaos, she felt like such an utter fool.

Banishing her childish hesitancy, she straightened. "Yes, I do."

**The feminine voice responded that they had suspected that she would and asked what she desired to know.**

As Anna spoke to her, something, an unnoticeable slight change in the Shadow's body language caused a wave of sympathetic understanding go through her. It was feeling that she didn't have to be nervous or afraid, something that she found both chilling and liberating at the same time. Yet there was still a slight sensation of gentle warmth, one that almost conjured up the word _motherly _in her mind, like she'd felt while she'd slept inside the cocoon.

The memories in her mind whispered to her, telling her why this was. The Shadows, while not telepathic, understood each other intimately. Sometimes all that was need to convey information amongst themselves with a simple word or gesture- which the other Shadows present would notice and correctly interpret that gesture in the current context.

"Is my name Rose?"

For a moment, she thought Anna was surprised. But it was gone so quickly that she wondered if she had imagined it. **The Shadow responded,saying that she did not yet have a name,but that she could pick her own in time.**

"Oh." She said, crestfallen.

Something in Anna's body language conveyed a sense of curiosity to her, as she questioned where she had heard that name.

"I had…I'm not sure _what_ to call it. I don't even know if it was a memory or dream. It happened right before I woke up here. In it I was standing on a battlefield and someone I could not see addressed me by that name."

Appearing to muse this over, the Shadow asked if she had been in the battle or simply been present in the field.

"I don't know for sure. I think the vision took place after the battle, but I do think that I was part of it."

**-Is there anything else you remember?-**

"No. Nothing." Feeling a bit uneasy, she asked "What am I? I have these...memories, but I…I don't know."

**Anna explained that she was in fact a hybrid, created from a mix of human DNA and that Anna's race. The memories she had were genetic, passing the knowledge of their philosophy, history and technology to each new generation of Shadows.**

_So that's why I was able to use the tech_, the woman thought, her gaze flickering over the burn mark on the doorway. Considering how the Shadows augmented themselves with technological implants, it made sense that they would include an instinctive knowledge of how to use them in their genetic memory.

But still…

"Then why are they so indistinct? Is there something wrong with me?" She was pleased; her voice did not betray with the slightest quiver of nervousness.

**Anna reassured her that there was nothing wrong with her. Her mind, **the Shadow explained**, was still mostly human and therefore was not the same or as advanced as a Shadows'. Their memories also worked in a different manner then a human's. Since her mind still thought in the terms that humans did, it could not retain much of the details of the Shadow's genetic history.**

"Is that why didn't I remember anything when I woke up?"

**-It was a side-effect of your creation. We had to place a temporary block on your mind until it could handle the information. - **

"Oh. What happened to the Zener?" Surprised that she was asking, she nearly stumbled over her words, "I only took a shot at him because I didn't remember anything."

**The Zener is well enough. You had a great deal of potential- and they had made her into what she was because of that. But even those with potential could stumble and fall before they could reach it. Anna trusted that she would not disappoint them.**

**(*)**

There was always a feeling of…_something_ about the Shadows. Shaidar Gorthaur could not think of a human word that could truly describe it. The closest he could come was the feeling of the change in the air before a storm. But he understood the cause.

It was a feeling of something powerful and ancient. A strength and intellect that the Hand of the Shadows knew he could only guess at. There was a force there, a power of the kind that could warp reality. The Shadows didn't have to want to; they did by simply being there. He knew from the Shadow-memories and from seeing it happen with his own eyes.

"So, how is she?" Shaidar Gorthaur asked, the long black leather coat- the triangular metal badge that symbolized his rank pinned to its high collar- he now wore over his uniform billowing out behind him as he fell into step beside the Shadow known as 'Anna'.

Despite this, Anna was one of the youngest members of the Council of Shadows- the name given to the group who advised the Pale and Silent King. They were his confidants, his most prized servants. With so many dead in the Vorlon War and the rate that it took Shadows to reach maturity, the next generation of their race had to step up to the challenge.

Since the Shadows' individual names in their own language were impossible for most species to pronounce, they had developed the custom of taking names in languages other than their own when they interacted with other races. While a hybrid like himself could understand the Shadows better than almost any other race, neither he nor the 'new' Rose were exempt from this. Even for a hybrid, it was impossible to understand the truly alien language of the Shadows without some form of translation device.

**Anna spoke to him as they walked, telling him that the girl was as well as could be expected. She was confused, disoriented, but that was fading. She'd also displayed an instinctive control of the tech [Instruments of Chaos].**

"As we expected."

**But, **the 800 year old First One continued, speaking through mouth-parts hidden within her triangular head**, there was a problem.** **She'd [the woman down the hall]recalled Rose Tyler's memories.**

Despite the ramifications of this news, Anna did not seem worried, so Shaidar wasn't more than mildly concerned. Still, he could not quite shake the uneasiness this information left him with. "What sort of memories? Did she do anything?"

While the Shadow told him what had unfolded, Shaidar Gorthaur listened intently. As he did, the Hand of the Shadows recalled the dark markings he'd seen around the new Rose's eyes less than a half hour earlier. It had been curiosity that had made him go and see her.

The Shadows had long known that it would be all but impossible to remove all of Bad Wolf from Rose Tyler. For all their galaxy-shaking power, the connection between the two was too deep. The Time Wolf had intertwined with the British shop-girl's very DNA. He'd once likened separation of the companion and the Time Wolf to trying to break up white and black from gray paint- _after_ the paint was dry.

That was why when he'd seen the markings, he'd thought little of them. Especially due to the almost total lack of the golden glow he'd seen around Rose Tyler. The Hand remembered thinking that it was almost inevitable that some tiny part of Bad Wolf would have survived, despite the rebirth.

Now a chill went through him as Anna finished. Chances were that the memories were just a fluke. But all the same, Shaidar Gorthaur berated himself for not really helping to come with a better backup plan. Yet…

"I can't say I'm completely surprised, as unfortunate as this is. Maybe its bit premature, but perhaps we should consider that we might have to kill…_Rose_ soon, before she uncovers anything else. It may be best to have her out of the way then back on the Doctor's side."

While they had always planned on removing Bad Wolf from the scene, it had been hard to 'recruit' the woman who looked like Rose Tyler. They'd needed someone who was not just from an entirely different world, because of what had been done to the races of this galaxy, but someone who didn't even exist. At least, according to records; that part, among other things, fell to him. In the end, he'd constructed a computer virus to destroy all official records of her, calling it '_Bad Wolf'_ so that not even the Doctor would suspect anything, should he discover it. It was truly amazing, the kind of things one could do without setting off a single alarm, just by using that moniker.

Still, the woman who looked like Rose Tyler was just another piece on the board. While losing her would be unfortunate, it was nothing that could not be overcome or recovered from. As he'd been taught, '_Plans can break down. You cannot plan the future. Only presumptuous fools plan. The wise _steer_.'_

**-Not until we have to [no choice]. Remember we **_**do **_**need her for [our plans]-.** There was a hint of something in Anna's tone. It could have been interpreted as a leader speaking indulgently to a subordinate.

He accepted this reminder- which was a borderline rebuke, and he knew it- with a nod. The Shadows might listen to him, respect him on some level and value his input. But that did not mean everything he suggested was acted on and Shaidar Gorthaur was not so arrogant to see that.

While he was not the sole architect, it truly was 'our plan'. Even if it all turned out well, Shaidar Gorthaur knew that he would never see more than a fraction of their plan's success.

It would be easy to believe that the Shadows were nearly emotionless. For a time, in the beginning he'd actually thought they were. But nothing could be further from the truth. It was not that the Shadows were violently emotional, it was that their base purpose- now his too - to bring chaos was so intertwined with their emotions that they overlapped.

_...to dance with the fire, to live in it, to fully embrace the primal forces of destruction and creation, and not be burned to a cinder, to survive and prosper because you loved the flame, used the flame, but did not allow yourself to be consumed by it…_

There was something in how Anna responded, however, that nagged him. It hinted that there was some kind of time element to Rose's memories. Or…

The Hand of the Shadows paused, turning things over in his mind, before asking, "Could the other memories, the ones that were preserved from the original Rose be responsible in some way?"

**- Doubtful. Only Rose Tyler's basic memories were copied over. How to interact with the world [live]. But it doesn't matter. The signs say the [cycle of time] before her new personality should submerge any fragments are a [point] months away. The Council will have her trained by another Techno-mage [Chosen] until then.-**

The Hand did not need to be told what the consequences of this would be. In the original plan, training 'Rose' to become a Techno-mage in the time they had would have been difficult. But now it would be even more so. There had been no real way to rush things in terms logistics and planning. Pushing certain pieces into play too soon could have been disastrous in the long term. _Perhaps_, he thought, _more so then this misstep with Rose Tyler's memories._

Shadow-human hybrids controlled the tech in a unique way that he didn't think could not be taught by a non-hybrid easily. Not to mention the other abilities that came along with having 5% of their DNA being Shadow, besides the history of their race-or at least enough of those memories to know the shape of that history. Yet, the Hand of the Shadows knew they did not have any other options- he was the only hybrid in existence.

Still, some part of Shaidar Gorthaur felt faintly relieved- he'd never really felt qualified to teach Rose. As he thought this, Shaidar Gorthaur could feel himself shy away from _why_. The thought caused something to wrench deep within him despite the years. Odd how that particular piece of his past still bothered him, even after everything he'd seen and done since that day, five years ago, in his own universe...

The Hand of the Shadows pushed the memory of that day back with little more than a thought. It was an old pain- but still tender and not something that he liked dwell on.

"So I take it that we'll be using the back-up plan?"

**-How did you know?-**

"I brought Rose Tyler here. So if any part of her or Bad Wolf remains," he gestured back down the passageway they had taken, "they'll remember me. I deceived them and it would've been one of their last thoughts. If those memories are linked to my deception, so could anything that involves the Doctor."

The word 'deceived' was particularly fitting, Shaidar Gorthaur thought as he spoke, although he hadn't meant it to be so. It was not a betrayal- he'd never been on their side to begin with. And the idea of using an unmodified Rose Tyler as an instrument of chaos would have been almost guaranteed to backfire.

"But you don't seem to think there will be a similar problem with anyone else. Otherwise, she would have shown a reaction to you. She admitted she only tried to kill the Zener because she didn't recognize it at the time."

**While she praised his deductive reasoning, Anna admitted that she was hardly unsurprised. She'd been curious to see if he'd figure things out before she told him everything.**

Shaidar Gorthaur said nothing. Accepting Anna's praising stoically, he glancing out of one of the several large arch-shaped windows that lined the right-hand wall of the corridor, before continuing on. Each window was etched with the same markings- hexagons and triangles- as the retractable dome above the city, the 'capital' of the Shadow Consortium.

The designation of the city as a capital had always struck him in an indefinable way as a darkly amusing conceit: every part of a shadow was as important as the whole. In truth, the city was simply one of the places where the ancient underground fortress came close to the surface. Down there in the darkness were places where the Shadows had manipulated the space in their world. There were laboratories, armories, factories and birthing facilities for warships and other techno-organic devices.

Still, he resolved to keep an eye on this 'new Rose', even after the Shadows said that she was 'safe'. While Shaidar Gorthaur did not doubt the Shadows or their abilities, he was not a near-sighted Drakh. He was more than aware that no one was infallible- a fact that the Shadows were readily inclined to admit.

'_They might not be God, but they are still a_ _close second_.' His mind murmured, and Shiadar Gorathur gave a mental blink. Where had that come from? It had the air of a quote to it… from what felt like another lifetime ago.

_Probably from one of those games I used to enjoy so much, _Command and Control_, or something like that…_

Something in Shaidar Gorthaur's mind idea hit him as suddenly as any idea ever had. It cut through the haze of frustration that he'd felt at the realization that what had happened with Rose would set their plans back, sending thoughts flashing through his mind.

…_don't seem to think there will be a similar problem…_

…_other abilities that came along with having 5% of their DNA… _

_The unique way…_

His mind ground to a disbelieving halt. As he checked his reasoning for holes, Shaidar Gorthaur was quite surprised when he found none. This didn't mean that it was perfect. The idea was rough and a bit crude of course, yet…

The Hand marveled at how _simple_ it was, almost ridiculously so. Just perhaps, this could, would work. Not that it would mean he intended to let his guard down with Rose.

Anna's voice, a query to know what he was thinking about, snapped him out of his thoughts.

Looking forward, the Hand of the Shadows realized that he must have stopped walking at some point and that Anna, who was a yard or two ahead of him, must have continued for a moment without noticing this.

"I think…"Shaidar Gorthaur said slowly, feeling the beginnings of a rare grin, "I have a way to work this out. A way we can steer her path. _Yeess_." He was too pleased to feel irritated at the momentary return of his childhood verbal tic.

They'd gone through a lot of trouble, indeed, to get her, but not a single speck of that effort would be wasted.

Not if he had anything to say about it.

* * *

**Author's Notes-**

As I have said before, constructive criticism, comments and reviews are always welcomed.

The game Shaidar Gorthaur semi-quoted at the end is _**Command and Conquer: Tiberian Sun.**_


	8. Chapter 7: In the Service of Chaos

**Chapter 7- In the Service of Chaos**

* * *

"_To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often."_  
-Winston Churchill

_"Let weak feed on weak, that we may divine the nature of strength."_  
- Phyrexian Scriptures

**(*)**

She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep going.

Yellow blasts splashed over the defensive shield that covered her like a second skin made of glass. One of the first things she'd been taught to create, the shield caused her to view the world with a faint blue tinge. Each impact sank into the covering like a series of hot yellow stones tossed into a small body of water, radiating ripples across the surface.

She hadn't been fighting for long, in the grand scheme of things—she certainly had more time-consuming exercises practically on a daily basis—but this... this was incredibly taxing, both mentally and physically. Data about her surroundings flickered across her constantly orange-rimmed vision. Although she had considerable natural talent with her implants, her inexperience using them sapped her strength, and her thoughts kept colliding from trying to control multiple 'spells' at the same time. Instinct was all very well and good, but she needed to move away from that. Somehow

With a thought she conjured a golden-red orb of energy, hot enough to melt metal and boil the liquids that made up most beings, into thin air. Not even a split-second later she sent it flying towards her attackers from where she ran, exposed with no available cover in sight.

The quick-moving sphere of energy sped across the distance and caught one of her foes in the chest as he shot at her, killing him and reducing the upper portion of his upper body to a blackened mess. In response, the remainder of them ducked back down behind the thick stone pillars that held up the roof of the building and the piles of building material.

She wasted no time, sending another ball- another crude attack- and another, and another, intended to make them keep their heads down. Hopefully she could pick enough of them off...

Sweat trickled down her face in rivulets, making loose strands of hair stick to her forehead as reached one of the pillars. Peering around it, she lined up a shot and sent a bolt of energy to blow an opponent's face partly away. Blinking the stinging substance out of her eyes, she fought to retain her mental focus despite the enormous strain of maintaining a shield and fighting at the same time. While her connection to the biomechanical implants (which gave her a quicker 'reaction time' than a normal techno-mage) was instinctive because of what she was, her command over of them was not. Already the ripples created by the impacts were turning from blue to red and yellow. A quick 'glance' at the orange, slightly curved horizontal bar that seemed to hang in the upper part of her vision, as if on a screen, confirmed what she already knew. If she was going to finish this properly, before more of them could flank her, she needed to do it _now._

With a snarl, she sent a surge of energy through her implants, channeling her white-hot anger as she strengthened the shield and tightening her control. Without a Techno-mage's defensive shield to protect them, her opponents were vulnerable in more ways than one. Maybe it was time to change tactics. With a thought, she repeated the same commands as before- only this time in a different order.

While it was a fairly short-ranged attack with an effective range of only a few meters, it was possible for a Techno-mage to create a spell _inside_ a target, making it impossible to evade. In this case, that spell was a ball of energy.

But the command had to be matched with the position of the target, and she was still an apprentice. Her control was not as good as a full Techno-mage's. Additionally, she'd never attempted to do this before outside of practice on still targets. But, at this point, it was her best chance to be done with this before she was hit.

Perhaps her enemies had fought a Mage before and knew what was coming. Maybe they were just suspicious of her sudden, split-second pause in resistance. Regardless of the reason, several of her attackers dove away, suddenly throwing themselves to the side from where they hid behind cover, just as she attacked.

Even as her opponents that had not moved crashed, smoking and burning, to the ground, she felt her concentration, her control, _slip. _The emptying orange bar that represented her shield's strength disappeared as she lost control.

_No! _

A wordless howl of denial erupted from her mouth as the shield around her dissolved. Even as it occurred, she was frantically trying to bring the shield back up, but she was just a half-moment too late.

The cry turned into a yelp of pain one second later as a bolt of yellow light slammed into her side.

"Enough," said a familiar voice.

Instantly, the interior of the partially constructed building wavered and vanished, although the battle-worn pillars and obstacles remained. In its place was a large room with dark gray-brown walls of stone. As it was everywhere in the vast interconnected web of tunnels and passages else on Z'ha'dum, the floor had been polished smooth, while the walls still were rough-hewn.

At the same time, her attackers froze in place, their individual holographic bodies fizzing away to reveal what they really were, a group of drones. Each drone had been made in the shape of a featureless black sphere a few inches in diameter. Six of them sank slowly to the stone floor of the training room, which was littered with the sparking wreckage of their comrades.

Still, it did not matter. Several of the more lightly damaged drones were repairable. In fact, as she had learned, all of the drones were capable of repairing themselves, given enough time. The remainder would be recycled and replaced in short order.

While the holographic façade was purposely somewhat primitive, she understood the reasoning behind it. It was a tactic used to get trainees and apprentices used to shooting and killing other people. As time went on the simulation would become more realistic as the drones mimicked the behaviors of wounded beings.

Part of her hoped that this would start to happen soon. It felt demeaning to fight in simulations where the opponents just folded up and died.

Now that the fight was over, she was more aware then ever of her heart thudding inside her as she panted for breath.

Beneath her damp gray clothing, identical to what she'd been wearing when she had woken up for the first time, her body was slick with sweat from the day's exercises. While her practice sessions were not as physically strenuous as the 'workouts' she was required to do in order to keep herself fit, they were taxing in an entirely different way.

Rose, as she had begun calling herself less than a day after waking up in the medical recovery room, glared down at the intact drones. Instinctively, Rose's hand went down to rub at where she'd been hit on her thigh, which was rapidly going numb. She had the strange urge to try and kick one of the drones across the room, but restrained herself. Still, the anger she felt refused to go away entirely and lingered within herself.

Instead she turned towards the hairless, red-eyed alien humanoid that'd stood silently watching her fight.

Hailing originally from the Narn Imperium, G'kaan had been assigned to be her teacher by the Shadows. His orange-and-black spotted skin, along with several other features, gave him a somewhat reptilian appearance. However, she knew that, like all Narns, he was in fact a marsupial.

Like all Techno-mages, G'Kaan wore a black outfit. In his case, this was a suit of light armor.

At first this choice of color had puzzled her a bit. While she had not met many people during her time here, all the mages she'd seen wore black. Owing to the sensors which were a part of the bio-mechanical implants in her body, she could detect the implants in their bodies and the faint energy they gave off. When she'd asked G'Kaan if there was a reason behind this choice of color, Rose had half-expected some sort of retort for asking. Since no one seemed to comment on this choice of color, clearly there was nothing odd about this. Instead, he'd calmly explained as if it was the sort of thing that was asked every day. The Techno-mages had no uniforms, no true marks of rank, but black was their badge, the color that declared them to be exactly what they were when they did not have to pretend.

"You were a minute short holding off the drones. Nor did you kill as many this time around," G'kaan said in his oddly accented voice, clanking slightly as he walking forward. Rose could see that the slight, near-constant scowl he'd worn during the thirteen days she'd known him was deeper than usual.

"Had you used a flying platform", he continued, "instead of running, you might have lasted longer."

There was a subtle but clear hint of displeasure in his voice. This minor rebuke at her failure caused feelings of shame and anger to scrape at her, as it always did. Anger at herself, anger at not fighting better, anger at losing control of the technology in her body…

The last one dug at Rose especially deeply. The purpose of that particular exercise was to improve her concentration and ability to do multiple tasks at the same time with the Techno-mage implants.

In the few days since her training had begun, both her power and her abilities had grown. Still, she was aware of her limitations. She'd seen her teacher perform multiple 'spells' at the same time with no difficulty.

Her frustration made her speak up. "I tried-"

"Obviously." He bit out, tone mocking and dismissive. "And obviously not hard enough. A Hunter does not _try_- or whines like a child."

G'kaan paused slightly. When he'd first done this, in the middle of her training, Rose had wondered if he'd heard something she did not. Now she was sure that he was just taking a moment to think.

"We are done for today," he said abruptly. "We will meet again here tomorrow at the same time as normal."

Rose gave a tired nod of understanding. "Alright," she replied, her voice even despite how she seethed.

Off to one side of the room, a white towel abruptly levitated several feet off of the floor and gently floated towards her. Reaching down, Rose grabbed the white cloth off of the paper-thin flying platform, before dissolving it into nothingness with a thought.

Flying platforms were among the widespread and commonly used abilities that a Mage could use. This was a result of them being used for a wide spectrum of techno-magic spells. In its basic form, flying platforms were invisible and rectangular in shape. Of course, the platform could be made in any shape, such as a chair or a chariot, but since Techno-mages mastered the rectangular form first, it appeared the most often. The size a platform could become, however, was limited. Also, a mage could also use the platform to levitate him or herself and achieve a somewhat limited form of flight. Since they were still solid, flying platforms could mimic the ability of telekinesis or be used in conjecture with other 'spells'.

Rose had seen records where a mage used multiple flying platforms to give a flock of semi-intelligent holo-demons he'd 'summoned' the ability to interact with the physical world, instead of being mere illusions. Even as she thought about it, she felt an echo of amusement she'd felt as the holo-demons had massacred a group of would-be muggers, who'd thought the old mage would be easy pickings. The obvious panic on their faces when the holo-demons had first swooped out of the darkness had only added to the hilarity.

At this point, however, Rose was not yet experienced enough to do this. It almost annoyed her to no end.

Her face still buried in the towel as she used it to wipe the sweat off of her face, Rose heard the sound of footsteps and the slight metallic clanking G'Kaan made whenever he moved. It was rather odd, Rose thought. The first time she had heard that sound, it had stirred an uncharacteristic feeling of fear inside her.

Looking up, Rose watched her teacher leave the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

Despite it's nearness to the 'City of Shadows', the area where she spent most of her time in was mostly vacant. Rose was quite alright with this- even if she did not find it ideal. But her experience with other apprentices had been uncomfortable. Rose found that she could not relate to them. And she suspected that they feared her, because they did not know exactly what to make of her. Very few people seemed to know what she was- a hybrid of Shadow and human DNA- and she had been told that it must stay that way.

The tiny spark of anger that had been building under the surface of her fatigue abruptly flared into life. With a snarl of anger, Rose flung the towel she held at the nearby wall. A golden crimson ball of energy leapt from the palm of her hand, the same one that had thrown the towel. As the sweat-soaked material met the wall with a rustle of cloth and a barely audible 'splat', the ball of energy collided with it. Seconds later the towel's remains drifted lazily downward towards the floor, little more than scattered fibers of blackened, smoldering cloth. These threads dissolved into ashes as they hit the stone floor.

Watching the cloud of smoke and steam dissipate as it floated up, Rose felt her body begin to shudder in little stops and starts. In the state of hyperawareness that encompassed her, Rose could feel her heartbeat thudding inside her as it picked up its tempo again. Her hands contorting into fists and her fingernails dug into the palm of her hand, but her attention was focused inward as Rose struggled with the anger that burned within. A part of her wanted to give in with an ache that almost hurt. Yet, despite that part of her wanted to do nothing more than vent what she felt with more destruction, she knew that she could not because it would be failing _again_.

While the biomechanical implants gave her power, there was a price, something she knew from the Shadows' genetic memory long before her teacher had told her. The implants were partly alive and they were programmed to exert a faint pressure on the mage they were placed in, causing them to become aggressive—and, therefore, more prone to violence and chaos. By creating the implants to work in this fashion and melding machinery with living beings, the two were set in conflict. Life is struggle, struggle is life.

The Shadows believed that in the strife for control and dominance between the machine and Techno-mage, each would grow stronger. Mages were meant to attack others, to defend themselves with incredible force when threatened, to survive through the healing powers of their organelles- microscopic machines created by the implants- injuries that would kill others.

This was the greatest threat the mages faced- destroying themselves because they lost control. For a Hunter like herself this…was a problem. In fact this was why there were very few techno-mages that chose or were chosen to become Hunters.

The Shadows gave the mages free reign to come up with whatever method of control suited them best. Rose knew through the genetic memories of the Shadows that this idea of creativity was echoed in their military doctrine.

Gritting her teeth, she struggled to push aside the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings that clouded her head.

While she fought, Rose became aware of an impression tugging at the back of her mind. The sensation was weak, but it was unique and caused a creeping sensation to go up her spine. It was the feeling of being _watched_.

Rose whirled around, prepared to give whoever had witnessed her moment of weakness-

She stopped, confused.

There was no one there. Almost immediately, the embarrassed anger she'd felt at being seen faded. She could felt a humiliated glow crawl up her neck as her anger faded away. The humiliation she felt mounted as at a simple understanding. Rose was aware that she had been foolish in acting in response in the manner she had. The room's only entrance had been right in front of her. Given the state she'd fallen into she would have become instantly aware if someone had entered, even if the anger she'd felt had clouded it.

A stinging sensation caused Rose to lift her hand up to her face. For a moment she stared blankly at the sight of miniature pin-pricks of red blood. As Rose realized that she'd cut her hand with her nails when she'd fought to control herself, she caught a faint whiff of blood. It was coppery, sharp…_sweet_. Rose swallowed, her mouth watering a little. An infinitesimal part of her became…hungry. Hungry for blood, but especially, what came with it.

Rose tensed, waiting for something to happen…but…no…there was nothing. With a slightly relieved shrug, she turned on her heel and walked towards the steel-colored doorway. Not that she had really expected anything to happen, she told herself, as the door swung up and she stepped into the hallway.

**(*)**

Sometimes, like now, when training had gone so badly, Rose wondered if she would ever truly have what it took to be a Hunter. Unlike Techno-mages, who were an Order to themselves and often served in many different functions- what Terrans called 'special operations' being one of them-, Hunters were a sub-organization of soldiers who were a part of the Shadow Consortium. Each sub-faction, or 'Path', was focused towards a particular style of fighting or role. Due to this, each Path had its own specialized training and a variety of different cybernetic implants. It was possible to be trained for two separate Paths, but a person who did so would not be as proficient in either of them as one who focused on a single Path.

The Path-implants didn't completely rewrite a person's skill set. For example, if a person who belonged to the 'Commander' Path had no strategic skill prior to implantation, they did not suddenly become a military genius. But, according to what the portion of the Shadows' genetic memory had hinted at and what she'd been told, if they had some level of ability in the area - even if it only showed through a skill for winning strategy-based games - that ability would be enhanced beyond what that person might have been able to do by themselves.

As a Hunter, her implants were designed with the intent towards allowing her to move faster, more silently, and more gracefully than normal. Her sense of balance and spatial awareness had been improved—not so much by changing the senses themselves, but by making the way her brain processed them more efficient. Sight, smell, and hearing had been similarly improved. Her entire nervous system had been altered, signals flying along it more quickly than they ever could before. Reflexes were almost prescient now. She'd startled herself with them more than once, her body moving before she was conscious of a threat, but—like everything else—she had gotten used to it. In addition to being connected to other mechanisms in her brain, which allowed the signals sent by the Hunter implants to be processed, the Hunter technology was attached to the network granting her Techno-mage status in the first place. How, exactly, the devices worked, she wasn't sure; but it didn't matter. They had given her abilities that no other creature could possess, and that was enough.

Even so, these were only first stage of Hunter implants. Over time, more would be added as she proved worthy of them. Since, unlike most Hunters, she also had Techno-mage implants, it would not be necessary for her to receive entirely new implants. Instead, parts of the bio-mechanical devices that were already inside her body would be modified.

Rose shivered, feeling water drip from her hair, still sodden from the 'shower', as it was called, that she had taken to trickle down her spine.

Thanks to the portion of the Shadow's genetic memory she had and G'kaan's lessons, Rose knew that Hunters were amongst the most bloodthirsty of the Shadow's servants. They often displayed increased aggression and were extremely independent. They were trained in infiltration, murder and terroristic tactics so that they could eliminate threats to the Shadows or their plans.

_Can I become that? _She wondered, her right hand drifting up to touch the mirror mounted on the bathroom's wall. Without Rose consciously willing it, a slender finger began to gently trace the black markings that rimmed the skin around her eyes in the mirror.

She owed the Shadow's her very existence…yet…

_Why did they make me a Hunter? Why did they set me on this road?_ Worry knotted low in her stomach.

No. Rose stopped the train of thought, her hand jerking back to her side-her other hand was still holding the towel that covered her torso and draped down around her naked body. If she continued she knew that she would just upset herself. She had to be better than this.

As she dried herself off, she dressed herself in a copy of the same gray outfit and underclothes she'd worn earlier. Fortunately, whatever process that had allowed the Shadows to imprint human mannerisms on her mind gave her the knowledge to take care of herself. While she was not ashamed of how she looked, the idea of being taught how to…

_Stop it_, she told herself, a faint flush crawling up her neck as she pulled the shirt over her head.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror, the dark-blonde hair barely grown past her chin. Rose was remined once again that even if she looked like a human it was just that- an appearance. One that was, to use a phrase in her head, only 'skin deep'. Her only external differences form a human were her eyes and the slightly lengthened canine teeth- the minutely sharpened edges of her other teeth were so subtle they were barely worth thinking about.

It was a realization that she'd discovered fairly early on, being curious by nature. It was a trait that her instructors both loved and hated. G'kaan had once remarked that her favorite word was 'why'. It was something that, even remembering, caused a flurry of discomfiture. She was still a child in the world, despite having a genetic memory that stretched back over thousands of years- and it was not something she liked.

At first it had been a simple suspicion, brought about by her interaction with other humans and the flash of out-of-place fear at hearing the clanking of armored feet. A suspicion had become certainty with a simple scan of herself and a comparison to that a 'normal' human Techno-mage's.

Despite not being a scientist or a doctor, Rose had been able to understand much of what she'd discovered.

For starters, there was a thin layer of material, similar to cartilage, between her ribcage and her internal organs- some of which, while small, did not exist in the normal human. Another difference, along with increased metabolism, Rose had quickly spotted was an increased muscle and bone density. She suspected that the two were connected.

While the muscle density meant that she was stronger, the bone density meant that she was less likely to injure herself. In simple terms 'what would the point be of strength if you risked breaking or fracturing a bone every time you fought?' While it was not a huge increase compared to a human's, she realized it was certainly a noticeable one.

In addition to being structured differently than a human's, there were multiple clusters of dense material spread through her partially cyborg brain. Like some of the organs she'd spotted earlier, they did not exist at all in the human. But neither of these realizations were the source of her fear.

With the other non-human organs, she could at least get some idea what they were made of, even if she could not tell what they did. While her brain was recognizable as being a human's, if altered, the black material was not. It was all but completely unidentifiable by the Techno-mage implants and by what information she could get from the Eye- although in the case of the later, she might just not have access to parts of it.

There was one thing she was able to find out. Her sensors showed that the electrochemical activity in those parts of her brain operated on a lower level then the rest. What this meant was that those parts of her brain were working more efficiently. While this efficacy did not increase her overall intelligence, she found that it did make her process information and react quicker.

To get so much out of five percent of Shadow DNA...it just seemed implausible to her. Even if humans shared almost 97 percent of their genes with creatures called 'apes' and were so very different in comparison. Besides, it was not as if augmentation was uncommon among the Shadow Consortium.

However one thing was still a mystery to her. Rose still did not know why the reaction she'd had to hearing clanking of metal-on-stone was one of fear.

When it had first happened, she'd been barely a day old and had simply ignored it. At the time she'd simply assumed that it was some kind of human genetic memory or a 'quirk' in the human memories. Now she all but grimaced at how obviously ridiculous the first idea was.

She could of course ask and find out if the…effect the sound of marching metal feet had was truly the result of a 'quirk' in the memories given to her or something else. Like the odd difference that she'd seen in the unaltered, human, part of her DNA.

However, in her DNA, this difference was completely absent. She was sure of it- as where part with the genetic difference would have been was still mostly human. This being said, there were segments of her DNA that were Shadow in that general area. In fact, when Rose compared her DNA to a human of the Shadow's universe, she'd noticed there was an overlap in the parts that were altered and the parts that were Shadow.

Yet, she did not know if the difference in the unaltered part of her DNA came from something the Shadows did…or it might have _something_ to do with the other universe: a place which she still knew next to nothing about, despite her attempts to find out more. She didn't believe that the timing of the Shadows discovering another universe and when she'd been created was coincidental. But if she was to be honest with herself, Rose still had no idea which of the two it was.

Still, there was one thing she did know. Thanks to whatever fraction of the race-memory of the Shadows she'd 'inherited', Rose had known the genetic anomaly in the human DNA- the one that she lacked completely- was Vorlon in origin almost from the moment she'd seen it.

* * *

**_Author's Notes- _**

You know how, in far too many movies and shows, women remain all pretty and perfect regardless of whatever yuck they might be crawling through? Maybe a few aesthetically-placed smudges? Nope. Not here. Also, to ring you a quote from one of my betas-

'it (this chapter) adds to the concept that hey, 'Rose' is a superpowered assassin-thing, but she's a _newbie_ superpowered assassin-thing.'

**Jonn Wolfe**- I'm very happy that you enjoy this story. Regarding your comment about 'whump'…well most of the characters in this story will go through some hard times. Nothing too graphic, but this is going to be a story where, if a character survives it, they will be changed by it, for better or worse. Here choices will very much have consequences and mistakes will come back to haunt the characters. On a side note- I know that you did not ask this, but if it's any consolation to you, there will be nothing 'going on' between Shaidar Gorthaur and the new Rose (or any Rose).

**arellowyn**- due to this story being set in a alternative time line, I'm afraid that seeing any characters from B5 would be next to impossible. Regarding the Doctor and his companions, they will be in this story and play a _major_ role in the series, but due to the way the story is set up, it will be a few more chapters before we do see them. I can only ask for your patience.


	9. Chapter 9: Prologue 2, Part 1

**Author's note:**

Wow, I've been away for a long time. Sorry about that.

*blows dust off and smiles* So…where were we?

* * *

**Prologue Part I: The Wheel of Chance**

**Part 2: The Gathering Gloom**

"_If you seek to aid everyone that suffers in the galaxy, you will only weaken yourself … and weaken them. It is the internal struggles, when fought and won on their own, that yield the strongest rewards… If you care for others, then dispense with pity and sacrifice and recognize the value in letting them fight their own battles._"**  
―**Darth Traya, _**Knights of The Old Republic: The Sith Lords**_

_There's somethin' happenin' here, __What it is ain't exactly clear, __There's a man with a gun over there, __Tellin' me I got to beware... __**  
-For What It's Worth **_by_ Buffalo Springfield_

**(*)**

**August 1, 2008- Modern Day**

**Location- Cardiff, Wales**

**Z: -8 months**

His grip tight on the steering wheel, Andrew "Andy" Davidson waited impatiently at a red light. His frustration came not only from the fact that there was little sign of anyone else but him on the road. While the day had begun, it was still only early morning. Furthermore, the rows of buildings were doing much to block out the light of the rising sun.

"Please turn left," chirped a mechanical voice. Andy glared at the GPS yet again. He'd lived in the city most of his life, which did not mean he wasn't too proud to ask for directions.

Still, he wished that he could have _listened_ to what the bloody thing had sounded like before he bought it. He would have gotten a different model.

"Please turn-"

The traffic light flashed a glowing green ahead of him and the off-duty officer made the turn with an almost unseemly haste. If only to shut the machine off.

While the GPS babbled out more directions, Andy's mind reached back to the day when he'd first become involved, the day when he'd first realized how little he really knew about the world.

"_...our role of keeping Earth safe will only grow as our species moves out and comes into contact with only god knows how many more potential adversaries. It is our duty to help hold the line with every means at our disposal." _

**(*)**

_**February 8, 2008**_

Andy didn't mind rain, not really. Nor the cold, come to think of it. This, though... this felt like a little bit of hell. It was dark—and not that pleasant kind of dark with the moon and stars; of course not. Thick clouds blocked out all possible radiance from the sky, so only the cold streetlights reflected off of the wet streets. It wasn't even bothering to rain properly, either. Tiny specks of water drifted along the wind, leaving him feeling distinctly damp and chilled without even the excuse of a downpour. Somewhere along the way, he'd stumbled into a puddle, and now his foot itched terribly—where it hadn't gone numb, anyhow.

_And it started out as such a nice day_, he mused, hurrying forward. Why he expected any different was beyond him. Rain, lots and lots of it- or drizzle in this case- was normal weather here.

With relief he stepped into the small plastic tent that had been thrown up to preserve what evidence they could, before the water washed it all away. Fortunately it wasn't that windy tonight- Andy remembered when he and several other officers had ended up chasing after a similar tent.

The thin dark haired woman standing in the corner of the tent looked up as he entered.

"Any idea what got him?" he asked, nodding towards center of the tent, where a gray plastic sheet sat on the floor, covering over the unmistakable form of a body.

Jessica shrugged. "I don't have much, but I'm hardly a medical examiner. Some of his wounds look like they were caused by fire. But others look like someone or something…well _gnawed_ on him."

"What, like a dog?" he asked disbelievingly.

Jessica gave a soft snort. "Unless that dog had some wolf relatives, I don't think so."

_Okay, 'weird murder' which usually means…_

As if his thoughts were somehow a summons, there was a screech of wet tires on wet asphalt. This was almost immediately followed by the sound of doors slamming open. Andy could see the scowl on Jessica's face that matched his own as the cry of _"Torchwood is in charge!" _came for what was, or at least felt like, the third time that week.

"Right _again_"_, _Andy muttered. He wasn't aware that he'd spoken aloud until Jessica commented "Looks like it." This was followed by a sigh and "I suppose I should get going- I doubt they'll want to ask us anything…._again_."

As she said this, he could hear his four fellow officers outside of the tent that had responded to the discovery of the body.

"Okay Bob, pay up!"

"…yes sir, you did hear that right, Torchwood is taking over…"

"_Damn it!"_

The drizzle continued to gradually soak its way through his hat as Andy followed his fellow officer as she left the tent and back into the night. Across the street, he could see the double-parked black SUV on the side of the avenue, which sat in the faint circle of yellow cast by a streetlight.

A sudden bright flash of light behind him drew his attention. Off to the side of the tent, he could see his former partner dressed in her customary leather jacket and holding a camera. As he walked over, the old feeling of betrayal rising up, Andy watched as she took a series of pictures of the wall of all things.

"Gwen, tell me what the hell is going on?"

"No, Andy, just get out of here. I'll tell you over a pint next week." The former officer replied without even glancing over at him.

He bit back a sharp retort. _No you are bloody well not going to and you know it!_ His mind growled. He wished he could be surprised by her lie, but this was exactly what she'd said last time.

"Gwen-"he stopped. He knew that there was little he could do that would result in anything. Realizing that she was looking at him, Andy stated, "I'm done here. Forget it."

Andy turned to walk away from Gwen and found himself nearly run over by that damn medical examiner. Harper, or something like that. A Londoner by his accent, the bastard was easily the most annoying member of the Torchwood team, even more than Gwen with her secrets or Jack Harkness with that damn coat and swagger of his.

Picking up the pace, he hurried away, his footsteps slapping on wet concrete. As he moved, Andy tried his best to let the sound of the city sweep away the feeling of betrayal. He'd parked his squad car a few streets over.

Reaching the street corner, he waited for a break in the traffic.

"Girlfriend trouble?" asked an older, English-accented voice.

Bristling with anger at the slightly sarcastic tone, Andy could not help but wonder who the hell this guy was. "Fuck off." He snapped, glancing over. The other man was standing under a tent-like overhang that protruded from a storefront wall.

"Well… going with the spirit of your words, I suppose I _could_, it you are content how things are-."

"What are you, some kind of dating advisor? I don't want anything that -"

Laughter cut the police officer off before he could go further.

"I am not 'selling' anything," the other chuckled, stepping out of the dark. Andy could see that he was thin- the word which came to mind was 'weedy'. He also seemed to be wearing a gray suit underneath a long jacket. Steel-rimmed glasses glinted in the light cast by the headlights of passing cars on a face that was a decade or three Andy's senior. "What I mean is to ask if you are content with walking through your life not knowing what is happening. For example, what Torchwood has been doing and what they are."

"And you can tell me that?" Andy replied, his curiosity replacing his annoyance.

"If you'd like." The other man countered, giving a casual shrug of his shoulders.

**(*)**

Climbing out of the car, Andy looked up at the building across the street. Long green vines snaked their way up the side of the abandoned warehouse's chipping gray walls, revealing brown-gray concrete underneath the paint. Slamming the door shut, he reached into pocket of his dark green coat. His fingers brushed against cool metal he searched for the remote, which had fallen off of his car keys so many times he'd stopped trying. Finding it, Andy locked the car doors with a click, before dropping it back in his pocket.

Walking across the empty street, the casually-dressed police officer wove his way through the tall grass that grew around the structure. More memories of the night he'd been recruited into Majestic 12 bubbled up from within, disjoined and out of order.

"_During my time working in DESI, wishful thinkers treated my take on Torchwood like the ravings of paranoia. But Majestic 12 was more than willing to listen and more importantly, act. The alien attacks have taught us the advantage of being proactive…."_

The officer's caution was not only from a desire to avoid any of the trash, most of it probably of the sharp and metallic variety, which had been dumped back here. It was to possibly avoid running into or, rather stepping **on**, anything that was living in it. If Majestic 12 had chosen this place for purposes of privacy, then it was beyond him why they had not simply used a basement somewhere.

"…_created in 1947 by President Harry Truman. Now, Majestic 12 is not the old Torchwood or the new. We do not want humanity to shy away from alien contact. Nor do we wish to expand through the galaxy as an empire with delusions of our own importance. The bureau wishes for the human race to face whatever, or whoever is out there with open eyes and, more importantly, a pragmatic mind-set."_

Nearly tripping over a vine of some kind, he shook of the tiredness that dragged at his mind. Working on two jobs at the same time could be a major pain, but Majestic needed him to continue his work as a police officer. Doing his best to ignore the rotting smell that emanated from the black water in the pit-like area of the building's loading dock, he climbed up the short flight of concrete stairs. Reaching the slightly ajar door at its top, he unlocked it with the key he'd been given earlier that week.

Slowly, grudgingly, the door opened and he stepped inside- which in all honestly was not better then the outside. Digging out the mobile-phone sized piece of triangular metal from his pocket, Andy placed it on one of the factory walls. Feeling unassuming piece of black metal stick to the wall, he stepped back quickly, releasing the two buttons on the sides of the beacon.

He was especially conscious of the simple warning he'd been given. There was also the rumor he'd heard from fellow member of Majestic 12. Andy did not give it much credence, but according the man who'd told him, an agent had once been sliced in half when they'd carelessly mishandled the beacon.

As he watched, a pale vertical line appeared, giving the illusion of bisecting the triangular piece of alien technology. The line grew, widening quickly until it became the size of a large silver colored doorway. The Gateway had barely stopped growing when its surface rippled, disgorging a humanoid figure.

In the ghostly light of the Gateway, Andy could see that the black-haired arrival was dressed in gray jeans and a dark shirt which might have been blue. A gray strap, part of a messenger bag, was crossed over his chest. His short dark hair- not a buzz-cut, but close- gave him a military-ish look. He also appeared to be quite young- Andy would have placed him in his mid-to late twenties. For a second , it made Andy wonder if he'd been given the right orders. But what still managed to surprise Andy was how _human_ the alien looked.

Andy had seen quite a few aliens since he'd joined Majestic-12, some of them pretty frightening. The ones that Torchwood had dubbed 'weevils' where rather terrifying in a purely animal sense. Yet the Shadows still took the prize. They were the spookiest creatures he'd ever seen. Their bodies were almost black: tall skeletal creatures with joints and glowing eyes that were distinctly _alien_. Yet in the brief encounters he'd had with one of them there was something… grand about them, something that commanded so much respect that he didn't want to step the wrong way. There was a touch of that feeling of grandeur here too, incredibly odd as it might seem, but very little.

"Agent Andrew," the other man said, stepping forward. Andy absently noted an odd trace in his tone, some accent he could not entirely place. For a moment, he thought he saw the Gateway shiver again, as if someone else had stepped through.

Andy turned his attention back to the Drej, who was patiently studying him.

"Yes. You're Shaidar?" While he'd never met him, Andy had still heard rumors of him. Not that that was uncommon in Majestic 12. Like many of the people who worked for the bureau, he was often given information on a strictly need-to-know basis.

Back when he was just a police officer, he hadn't been high up, but at least most of the time he'd have a fairly good idea as to what was going on. Now, suddenly, he was the new kid in the city again. The person everyone else had to explain stuff to. Every time they went on a mission, he was fully aware that the veterans were watching him like hawks.

"I am," the alien confirmed, his voice quietly confident, "I think would be better if you didn't call me by that name while in public."

Did this Shaidar think that he was an idiot? "Of course." Andy replied, meeting the alien's eyes dark green eyes, the iris bisected by a deep black slash. A shiver found its way down his spine and he felt his skin crawl. There was something very…the only word his mind could come up with was _"alien"…_ in that gaze. "The message I didn't mention any aliases. Is there any particular name you use or…?"

"Call me Morden." The other said as the silver glow of the doorway to the other galaxy faded as the Gateway shrank back into nothing. Before Andy could begin to move, Shaidar walked over and gently plucked the beacon off of the wall.

Turning, the Drej held the beacon, turning it over in his hands. His eyes glowed eerily in the dim light. Then in a smooth motion he presented the metal triangle to Andy.

_What was that about?_ Andy wondered. "Thanks," he said awkwardly, taking the black triangle from the alien's outstretched hand and placing it back in his pocket.

"You're welcome, but we should leave here. Even if this place is off the path for most people, I'd rather not have to risk running into anyone." The alien gestured with one hand to the door, an obvious 'after you'.

"Wait a minute." Andy commanded, attempting to wrestle back control of the situation, as much out of pride than a desire to get to the point. "I have no idea of how well you've been briefed or what you know, but you can't just waltz out of here. Your eyes are going to attract a lot of attention. If you have some sort of disguise or whatnot…?"

The last of his words hung in the air as Andy was given yet another of the numerous shocks he had suffered so far. He saw the Drej's eyes change, becoming human. It was a brief flicker, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it-moment.

"It's a hologram, nothing more." When he spoke, there was a definite trace of amusement in the alien's voice. "Your concern does you credit Andrew, but I have been to your world many times before."

**(*)**

The odd, muffled humming grew closer. The apartment door opened a crack and a dull blue eye peered out at Gwen Cooper.

It had been the urgent need to use the restroom that had awakened her a little more than an hour earlier from where she'd fallen asleep behind her desk at Torchwood. While her watch insisted that it was seven fifteen, her internal clock was still was acting like it was three hours earlier.

In short, morning came too fast. But these days it seemed morning _always_ came too fast.

"Oh, it's _you_." Said a slightly nasal voice. The door swung open and a short dark haired man with she thought was a questionable sense of fashion squinted at her.

"Jeezzeee, you're _early_. You don't kid when you say that, do ya?" Seeing her expression, he quickly added "Come on in."

Gwen had barely set foot inside before he scampered off, calling "Hold on a sec, I'll get it," over his shoulder.

She stifled a yawn as she studied the room. For a sec, the dark-haired woman considered sitting down. But the apartment was such a mess that she decided against it. Some of the stains on the couch looked distantly nasty.

There was a series of loud clattering from further in the apartment. Hissed cursing mixed with several quick thumping sounds quickly followed.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." was the pained reply as several other rattles sounded. Seconds later he emerged, limping slightly.

"Can't say I'm sorry to get rid of it. Piece of junk's been in the family for decades, ever since my granddad got it while he was in Italy in World War 2. Really, I don't know why you'd want it." He rambled, gesturing at the faded green rectangular box he held.

"I told you, I'm a collector." Gwen deflected with as much patience as she could. Digging into her pocket she tossed him the money.

"Uh-huh, Miss. Mysterious-lady...person." he murmured, making little effort to hide how much he bought that. But he still handed the slim box over.

* * *

**Author****'****s ****note:**

**quote**** '**By the prick of my thumb, something wicked this way comes…'

Anyhow, I (and others) have always found the idea of having just UNIT and Torchwood as the only organizations out there to clean up alien encounters to be…well, foolish. The world is a rather large place after all. The name 'Majestic 12' is borrowed from real (for a given value of 'real') UFO lore.

**Addendum:** As some long-time readers might have noticed, there have been some changes made in the previous chapters. Most of these were to clean things up so you did not get info dumped (something that I apologize for). As for others…find that I regret to announce that you have been **Retconned**. Please forgive me, and note that I have not done this on a whim.

I'm trying to keep the narrative claustrophobic, only letting slip information that the Major POV characters would know.

**RubyHair-**Why thank you! To me, good crossover really ought to use the other universe to make things a lot worse before they start to go better again, which is why this is probably so dark. When the war really comes, it won't be a one-sided good-guys/bad-guys take all. It will be a violent, deadly encounter. It should be great fun.

Ps: many thanks go to Kathryn Shadow for beta'ing.


	10. Chapter 10: Prologue 2, Part 2

**Prologue, Part II: Harbinger**

* * *

"_Because I wanted them to help themselves. To know the difference between right and wrong without me having to tell them. It's all meaningless if I have to force them to do anything. Why should I have to step in?" _

"_If you don't, he will." _**  
-Jacob and Richard, **_**Lost**_**, Ab Aeterno**

"_Deep is the well of the past. Should one not call it unfathomable?"  
- _**Thomas Mann**

**(*)  
**

Far out on the galactic rim a small planet orbited around a yellow-red star. From space, this world appeared unremarkable, one more among millions scattered among the edge of the Milky Way galaxy. Thick dust storms swirled across its rusty brown surface.

It was unlikely that many races would travel here. The star system lacked a jumpgate- one of the huge structures that provide a quick and easy method of getting to and from realspace to the chaotic other dimensional realm of hyperspace. Furthermore, it was located far off the beacon network used by the Younger Races to find their way through hyperspace. In galactic terms, this world was an old rock in a desert full of rocks on the far edge of nowhere.

Still, if some race had stumbled across this stormy world, they would have found little. The planet, barely a fraction larger then Terra- or as it was known in several other universes, Earth-, was dry and barren. Most scans would only tell that this world was just as it appeared- minimal surface water, no surface vegetation and with an atmosphere one-third of Earth's. In short, a place of rocks and dust. A few would have detected a scattered signs of what might have been a thriving civilization on this world. But they would have realized that what remained was little more than ruins, undoubtedly picked over by scavengers centuries ago.

Had they decided to land or send a probe to its surface, they might have seen the tall pillars that dotted its surface. But these objects- strangely showing little wear from the winds that howled across the surface, appearing to be made of simple stone- would be an oddity, nothing more. An abandoned world that was little more than a tomb, a planet-sized graveyard.

Nothing would have been further from the truth. The truth was that this world was not dead- although at times it was dormant. But even in those times, had any of those who would explore this dark world found out too much, they would have vanished without a trance. But now…this world was far from dormant. In fact, it had not been so for a very long time. Although its surface was still barren, activity seethed under its surface as its Lords and Masters prepared. As before, they were guided by circumstance and fate, adapting to the situation when they awoke.

Ships from dozens of worlds flew through its skies. Others entered through hidden, alien jumpgates, or other stranger ways, located deep beneath the planet's surface. One way or another they would find themselves in hidden hangars, some hundreds of miles across, of all shapes and sizes. From pole to pole, armies gathered.

The world had many names in the myths and legends of the galaxy. All were as a place of darkness. To the Drakh Entire, it was known as Sha'las, The Ending Place. But it was most commonly known by its Minbari designation- a word that meant 'death of the future'.

Or quite simply, Z'ha'dum.

High above the surface of this dark world, hidden away from all, a hyperspatial sensor array orbited. Through this impossibly complex device, the Eye of Z'ha'dum peered out on the galaxy, eternally vigilant.

At that precise moment the Great Eye, the most complex machine in the galaxy, had its gaze fixed on the ever-shifting border between the Narn Imperium and the Centuri Technocracy. Both sides fought their battles in their on-and-off wars. Worlds floated before its gaze like dust in the air. Observing those who inhabited the fortress-worlds and outposts along the border, the Eye's gaze pierced clouds, shadow, earth and flesh. Even as it discerned their thoughts, the Eye studied the vast mass of timelines. It peered forward into time, delving into the tangled quantum knitting ball of possible futures. Seeking out the ones most conductive to Chaos and forced evolution and fire.

Yet in spite its tremendous abilities, neither it nor its masters had reached the boredom of omnipotence. Nor did they intend to.

_**Chaos is the proper state of being, the state in which all impulse is free to act. Chaos is the way to strength. Chaos is the engine powering life. Chaos finds its fullest expression in times of war. In war all are put to the test. In war those unfit are destroyed. Only in bloodshed can true progress be made, can promise be realized. In war we are victorious and through war true perfection can be realized.**_

Suddenly there was a…_lurch_. A bolt of force reached out across the space between universes with the sureness of an arrow from a bow. It was heading towards one very specific reality. One that the Eye of Z'ha'dum's Masters had become rather well acquainted with over the past few years. Before the tunneling energy could reach its destination, it fizzed out like a wet firework.

As the Great Eye's gaze sought out the disturbance's source, it whispered into the minds of the Shadows, their ships and their servants throughout the galaxy. Even if they were not planning to plunge this galaxy into war once more yet, they still had agents on the move. Many of the Shadows, the Eye found, were already aware that something was wrong because of their own abilities.

The Eye's gaze stopped. Its gaze was fixed on…nothing. There was nothing there.

**(*)**

The light flashed to red.

Andy looked over once more at his passenger as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. The Drej was leaned back in the seat, his eyes shut. Since they'd left the warehouse, he'd barely said a word. Andy fairly sure that the alien wasn't sleeping- he'd looked more well-rested that Andy knew he himself did.

Not for the first time since he'd gotten his orders, Andy wondered why Shaidar Gorthaur was here- all he'd been told was to take him to an apartment, undoubtedly where the alien was staying and that there was some sort of meeting. Despite the differences in rank- or rather what he knew of the Drej's rank- Andy could not help but toy with the idea of simply asking him. Still, the idea of some sort of backlash- the last thing he wanted on his resume, or the MJ-12 equivalent, was 'bothering the hell out of high-ranking alien official'. This was not CSI or a television show where rank meant nothing.

Andy was still half-considering it when the alien's voice almost made him jump in his seat.

"Is there something you want to ask me Andrew?" Shaidar Gorthaur asked and the hair on the back of Andy's neck pricked as he saw the Drej had not opened his eyes in the slightest.

"How did you..." Half-remembered rumors about their allies, bandied around at the occasional meetings of the little Majestic 12 'cell' in Cardiff passed again through Andy's mind. "...Are you a telepath or something?"

"Hardly," Shaidar replied, sounding a bit disgusted by the idea as he opened his eyes, "I'm quite the opposite. My-" Andy wondered if he just imagined the slight pause, "race has issues with telepaths or other 'sensitives'."

Andy was not entirely sure how to reply to that. He was saved from trying an angry honk of a horn behind him. As he sent the car forward, Andy gathered his courage and asked, "Look, I know that you're some kind of 'middleman'. With this meeting you're going to, I was just wondering if what I heard about some of the Twelve being there is true."

The Twelve were the twelve men and women who were the leaders of Majestic-12. Few, if any, knew their identity.

"You know I can't tell you that." was the point-blank answer, but there was humor in his tone, as if he'd expected no less from Andy.

"Sorry, I should not have said anything."

"You have nothing to apologize for. Curiosity is not a crime."

Silence again fell in the car for a moment before the Drej spoke again. "Andrew, what do you know about Torchwood's activates?"

"Nothing really besides what I have been told." he replied, puzzled. "But it's not my assignment either," he continued a touch of old bitterness in his voice. "Majestic 12 is big on compartmentalization." A thought hit him and he asked, "Is there some sort of problem with the reports?"

"No, the reports my associates have been receiving are more than satisfactory," Shaidar assured. "But you misunderstand me. I read your file before I came here, so I know you've had contact with Torchwood in the past. I'd like you to tell me whatever you can about them, no matter how inconsequential or unusual it may seem."

Andy felt more puzzled then before as he asked, "Why are you asking me? I doubt that I can say much you haven't already found out or read. MJ-12 barely asked me anything when they brought me in."

"Which was rather foolish of them. Observation from a distance and looking into background records can only give you so much. It's a common enough error. Majestic 12 tends to think that they know everything worth finding out about Torchwood. They've always been a bit arrogant. It's only grown worse since Torchwood One fell. But I think that you will find, as I have, that there is always _something _overlooked. You've met with Torchwood, even if it was only when they arrived to kick you and _anyone_ else who might not like how they were doing things off an investigation."

As the Drej spoke, his words came forcefully, almost fervently. Andy felt himself being lifted up by the alien's emotions, the anger at Torchwood's contempt. Something in his voice whispered to Andy- _Back when you were powerless. _Used_. A __**victim**__ of ignorance. Like everyone else._

Still something held him back. "That's not much."

With his eyes straight ahead on the road Andy could only look at the alien through his peripherals.

Shaidar Gorthaur shook his head in a gesture that almost looked human. _Almost_. In its slight difference, it became more alien then of he'd never tried at all. "But as I said, it is something."

An explanation that he'd been given soon after his recruitment as to why, despite all of the alien invasions and encounters, almost everyone who was directly involved with aliens or in the know continued to dismiss their existence floated across Andy's mind.

The old Torchwood had been placing a chemical in the water supplies all over the world. This increased the human tendency to just ignore everything that was too much out of the ordinary. While Andy had been told that Torchwood no longer had the power it once did and that the chemical was slowly dissipating, that did not seem to stop Jack Harkness's little group from erasing events from the minds of those who 'knew too much'.

For a group whose goal was to 'arm the human race for the future' they acted the opposite way. Unlike Majestic-12 (who, as he'd been shown, slipped many of the advancements they made into the world market and militaries) Torchwood stockpiled almost everything they uncovered. They hid it away, not bothering to even try and call for knowledge beyond their tiny group- although Andy knew little beyond a few reports. It was obvious to Andy that Torchwood saw any alien contact-or at least any contact beyond _their_ control- as something to be curtailed, if not feared.

How had Gwen fallen in with people like this?

While this was turning over in his head, Shaidar Gorthaur, the 'middle man' of the Shadow Consortium, waited.

Still, normally, Andy would not have considered telling the alien- or anyone else- anything. Mostly because he had a suspicion of what would interest the Drej and it felt a bit too personal. Not to mention nonsensical. Instead, he heard himself saying "I think I might be able to tell you something. But if I do, I want to know why you are so interested. I'm tired of being kept in the dark."

The Drej's tone was soft, possibly even amused when he replied. "Alright", he said, "That's fair enough." For a moment Andy had the disconcerting thought that Shaidar had _expected_ him to say exactly that.

As they moved again towards their destination, Andy told what he knew as best he could. "Gwen and I have known each other almost since we were kids. I guess you could say I know..._knew_ her better than anyone." He turned left at a light. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

"That I did. But please, continue."

"Anyhow, weird things used to happen when she was a kid. I can't say I remember everything," Andy confessed, "but they always happened around her. Sometimes to me as well."

"Anything specific?"

"The one time I do remember... happened about the time I was five. She had this pet dog. Loved him. Well, the dog got sick, I don't know what it with. Days passed and he got worse and worse. Everyone, even the vets thought he was going to die."

He pushed the memory of Gwen crying back."Then one day...he just got up. Completely fine. Just out of nowhere. I remember everyone say it was some kind of miracle."

An unpleasant sensation rolled within him. He wasn't sure if he should say anything else. Andy teetered, needing some slight extra push to get him to continue.

It was Shaidar Gorthaur who provided it.

"But there is more, isn't there?" The Drej said, leaning forward in his own seat.

His features were oddly sympathetic and his voice understanding, but there was a hard edge just below the surface. Andy could not help but find him to be compelling yet slightly intimidating. He made it so easy to want to confide in him. Yet if you chose to lie, his eyes seemed to say, he _would_ know…and there would be consequences.

"Yeah. I might have been a kid, but I could tell the parents knew something. They tried to hide it. I could tell they were getting more worried as time went on. Like they were waiting for something. It went on for...what I think was two weeks or so. In that time Gwen was acting odd. She couldn't go anywhere without tripping on something. She had headaches...it was like she was sick, but wasn't. "

Andy paused for a moment as he parked the car on the side of the road. He was so caught up in the out pouring of his story it barely registered to him.

"There's something else too. She would disappear every summer. No one would- or could- really ever say where she went, or what she did. This went on for years, and stopped when she was 16. Everything, the disappearances, the weird things."

"Interesting." Shaidar said, his voice contemplative, "I did not know about any of that."

"Guess you were right then." Now that they were at the drop-off, Andy almost fully expected the alien to get out of the car and not answer. What did an impromptu agreement mean to him anyway?

The alien gave a ghost of a smile to reveal teeth that looked just a little sharper then they should be. "It doesn't happen nearly as often as I would like. Now...my half of the bargain."

"You wanted to know why I'm so interested," he continued, not noticing- or possibly just ignoring- Andy's shock. "It is a habit of mine. Military commanders often talk about 'knowing the enemy'. I take things a step further. I try and understand my enemies. What drives them, gives them focus. I want to know what my enemy is going to do before he, or she, even does. If you plan out a battle having some idea of the responses your enemy will make, then you have won that battle before it is even fought."

A pause, then-

"Andrew…What do you want?" Something in how he asked immediately grabbed Andy's attention.

"I'm sorry, I don't..."

"What if I told you that you could have anything you wanted? What if I said you can have anything in the entire world?"

Andy swore he heard a whispering sound behind Shaidar for a brief moment. He shook his head to clear his mind. He was obviously still not totally awake.

"I would tell you that I lost what I wanted, and that I doubt I'll ever see it again."

"But...What if you _could_?"

**(*)**

The building's door swung shut behind him.

The mid-day sun shone down as Shaidar Gorthaur wandered, not caring what direction he took. The meeting had gone quicker than expected, so he had time to relax. Regardless, he'd already sent his report back to the Shadow who'd arrived with him, summarizing events. Such was the importance of these recent meetings that his associates would send one of their own. With any luck his next meeting, this time with the Twelve in a few days would go as smoothly. Americans could be so very stubborn at times. Still, his associates' 'grand gesture' had helped sway them over and gained their trust.

While MJ-12 and his associates had taken a mostly hands-off approach with Torchwood from almost the beginning, he was starting to wonder if they should have gotten more involved. They'd been content with merely keeping an eye on Torchwood Three because of its remoteness. Placing either group's agents here increased the risk, however small it was, of Torchwood accidently stumbling upon them. While the branch under Harkness's leadership was not as methodical or powerful compared to the 'old' organization, they were far from being incompetent.

As usual, Shaidar Gorthaur's vision was a mixture of his own not-quite human eyesight and the Tech's sensor readings. With the feeds coming from hundreds of sensor nodes scattered throughout himself that were part of the Tech, the Hand's ability to see was like his body- machine mixed with flesh and blood. The filtered electronic signals could be made to create an alien, surreal vision of the real world.

These sensor readings could be filtered so that the multiple different types of sensor data were superimposed on top of each other. Generally, however, the Hand of the Shadows preferred a more simplified, human-like vision with numerical and information readouts flickering to being next to every object he took note of. While several values were different, most were colored the same icy-gray as the ever-present sharp-edged pattern that caressed the edge of his vision. Still, he could easily switch from this individual interpretation of reality to the other.

But even without all of that, he could see the faint golden light that covered nearly everything around him. In a way, the vortex residue coming from the Rift under Torchwood Three's guard reminded him of nothing so much of a thin dusting of snow, blanketing everything.

He was rather glad he'd found a way to use the tech to dull the glow down, rather than be left with a splitting headache again. That the portal to this universe hadn't kicked the Rift awake this time was a relief.

The thought of Torchwood made him reach out and a small box appeared in the upper right 'corner' of his vision.

_Primary program…Inactive/ on {standby}_

_Secondary program…Active_

_Function….[100%]_

Satisfied, he severed the connection. Not that it mattered. Even if the message could have been intercepted, no terrestrial monitor could have understood it.

The Shadow-Human hybrid walked his way through the crowd. Wherever he went, people edged unconsciously away from him and a path seemed to open through the crowd. Without the shield, they unknowingly felt the hint of what he was- one with the dark- and feared it, even though as far as he knew, the Shadows had never stepped into this realm until recently.

Still, he did not hide what he was behind an unseen barrier. There was no need for it here. No purpose. He sidestepped a girl, who rushed by him without a pause and hurried off to Somewhere Important.

The Hand of the Shadows did not worry greatly about getting lost here. Still, he reflected, crossing one street, then another, it was not like London. That city, the one Rose Tyler had grown up in, was…strange to him. And, like the one in his universe, untainted by Vorlon influence.

The girl who'd been created at Z'ha'dum, their wolf, was very different from her 'template'. From his own observations and the reports he'd read, Shaidar had come to understand that if left alone, 'Rose' held nothing back. She would work with ferocity and an anger that was as simple as it was straightforward. Yet at the same time…despite whatever portion of the Shadow's race-memory she'd received, Rose was like a child at times. A curious one at that, eyes wide, eager to prove herself and constantly pushing herself forward. It was a trait he had used with great efficiency and hoped to continue to use in the future.

He knew that some were disappointed in her. They only saw one part or one side of what she was. Shaidar Gorthaur saw differently. He saw a very strong and dangerous person, almost an animal, which would do whatever you asked her to do, with complete dedication and ruthless efficiency.

Just as there were differences between her and the original Rose, there were differences between his Earth and hers. One of which had proven most fortunate for the Shadows and himself. Had it been otherwise things could have turned out differently. At the very least it could have raised some unpleasant questions. Of course, that would have been a minor concern compared to having their identity and intentions compromised.

A loud series of barks drew his attention to a barrel-shaped dog, its short leash tired to a parking meter near the entrance of a store. He was not very familiar with canines in general. But he was fairly sure the snarling hound on a leash was a bulldog.

As if in realization that it was now the center of attention, the defiant barks turned into fearful whimpers as the dog began to pull at the leash, all but cowering away.

Shaidar Gorthaur let the hint of an amused smile cross his lips. Then he turned and walked away, all the while listening to the confused murmur of voices around him, keeping his pace casual and unhurried. He made no attempt to hide. Running would only attract suspicion. He didn't want someone to put two and two together and realize that the dog had been in fact barking at, and then cowering away from, him.

There was little risk here of being uncovered as an alien. Even if he'd removed the holograms over his eyes, the lingering effects of the old Torchwood's plan to retain the power they'd amassed would have kept the very idea out of most people's heads. Most would pass of his alien eyes as contact lenses. It would still make him too memorable for his liking.

Fortunately, there were still plenty of people heading in both directions, letting him blend in easily in the crowd and slip away. By the time he stopped he was several streets away.

Pausing at a street corner, he stepped aside for a trio of people. The three—a short, red-haired teen, a slightly younger dark-haired girl, and a dark-haired boy about the same age as the redhead, all of them in deep conversation about the recent death of Britain's Prime Minister Harold Saxon—passed by without seeming to notice him.

He watched them go, feeling a not-quite-hidden longing. His professionalism was weakening to his human feeling of loneliness.

It was interesting how humans continued to be so very good at improvising, coming up with new approaches for old things…or developing techniques that were forerunners to the Shadows' own. They showed great deal promise, much as they did in his associate's universe.

He watched as the trio vanished into a small bookstore across the street, his gaze resting momentarily on one of the posts proclaiming the name of a new novel.

Not for the first time, the Hand of the Shadows pondered if such was the same with the Doctor and his companions. If somewhere out there they were just characters in someone's story. He knew from his own universe that such a possibility was not just feasible. It was near impossible to not happen somewhere- it had been with the Shadows.

As he waited for the crossing light to change, his gaze happened to settle on a small restaurant nearby. Several people were sitting outside, eating at tables, either by themselves or in groups. One of those groups seemed puzzlingly familiar to him, even from this far away. With a flicker of thought, Shaidar Gorthaur enlarged his view of the little group of four people.

A breath hissed between his teeth and he froze in surprise. The four people talking over lunch were Toshiko Sato, Owen Harper, Ianto Jones and Gwen Cooper.

What were they doing here? Had they somehow have found out about the meeting? And if they had...how much more did they know and who else did they tell?

He could feel the familiar thrum of adrenalin in his veins. The Hand might be very good at what he did, but that did not mean that he could not be afraid. At the same time he could feel the quite but insistent tugging of the Tech and the Dark. Waiting to be used, _wanting_ to be used...

It was pure fight-or-flight reflex, and although he had the willpower to suppress it, he was still wasn't happy at the situation.

Shaidar Gorthaur couldn't see any sign of Jack Harkness and would have _known_ if he was anywhere close. His absence was a good thing, since he was supposed to still be somewhere in England. And by his associates' calculations it was still too early for the side-effects of their interference to show.

Despite everything, including that nasty time-loop he'd been stuck in for longer than the Hand cared to remember, temporal science was not an area Shaidar Gorthaur knew much about.

All those thoughts passed in the flash of a second, as he racked his brain for any viable course of action, aware that every second of hesitation could be very costly. The situation had to be contained. Then realization of what had happened hit him and the Hand of the Shadows bit down a very loud swearword. He could have kicked himself. They were not here because of him.

An open ambush during the day was not Torchwood's style. Not that their current arsenal would have had much chance of stopping him. And his sensors did not show that they were carrying any gear for observation or weapons.

Shaidar Gorthaur didn't have to a mathematician to realize that the chances of him accidently bumping into him was astronomical. Most likely this was result of one of the more unfortunate abilities that came with of being part Shadow. Like most First Ones, the Shadows' very nature meant they altered everything they touched. They could even sometimes manipulate it to achieve a desired effect. Make the impossible become merely the improbable. This did not make them omnipotent of course- merely very powerful. It was an ability that the Doctor himself also had.

Unfortunately, the Hand of the Shadows had no control whatsoever over this power. Even if it was weak compared to the Shadows and often manifested as simple 'luck', it had caused him trouble in the past.

Regardless of whether his innate ability was the cause of this encounter, he did not leave. There was no way they could pick him out of the crowd from this far off even if they knew of him. It was too great of an opportunity to pass over to gain new intelligence and answer questions.

While the Hand did not believe that Andrew Davidson's story was a _lie_, he also had doubts. Memories, especially older ones were very often easily distorted. Pieces were forgotten and the fragments that remained got reconstructed as details and events that never really occurred slipped in.

But what Andy had said still concerned him enough that he'd planned to have Gwen Cooper's past looked into again. An unknown enemy was much more dangerous than a known one. Hard and painful experience had taught him that he would be a fool to dismiss something without understanding the possible dangers it represented.

As he thought this, the Hand accessed wireless connections, infiltrating security cameras in the area in order to get more than one perspective. While the distance and noise prevented him from hearing them, a program translated the movement of their lips into a stream of text. Instantly, he began recording their conversation. Intelligence was one of the greatest pieces of war.

By the time he had accomplished this with lightening speed, the results of the scans he'd taken, this time only of Gwen, appeared. Shaidar Gorthaur was not surprised that their results were not conclusive. He hadn't expected to know if she was different from a human instantly. He was not a scientist or technician after all- neither his sensors nor knowledge were keyed towards such things. Still, it had been worth a try.

With that avenue of investigation over, he turned his attention once more to their conversation with interest. Unusual things sometimes happened for a reason. Perhaps he might still find something useful from this unexpected turn of events after all...

**(*)**

"…look," Owen said again, "Will you calm down? No one can hear anything, there's too much noise."

"I'm fine." Gwen shot back, the uneasy feeling that had followed her from hours earlier not helping her mood at all. Even if things were not as chaotic when Jack had first disappeared, everything wasn't right.

"So where were you this morning Gwen?" Tosh interrupted in what Gwen knew was a obvious attempt to shift the conversation back to their job.

"Yeah, last I saw of you, oh fearless leader, you were at your desk sleeping. Wasn't as sexy as I remembered but…" Owen trailed off under the group's expression. "Sorry, still a prat."

Biting back a retort about the brief affair she'd had with him, Gwen wondered again if that had somehow influenced her. Maybe her break-up with Rhys hadn't just been because of the secretive and hectic life she led.

"I was getting this." Reaching down, Gwen pulled the box out of the bag. Opening it, she placed it on the table.

A long dagger rested in the box. A series of strange markings dotted the weapon's blade. Three metal wolfheads, each facing a different direction, glinted on the pommel.

"I found it when I ran a search through our data base for possible alien artifacts being sold on the web. I recognized it from a document in our archives."

Gwen didn't tell them that it wasn't the only time she'd seen something like it. There was no way in hell she would ever tell them about that. She'd let that part of herself behind and had no desire to have _them_ visit her for bringing in others.

"Looks like it's Roman." Tosh commented.

Gwen nodded. "Which matches what the guy I bought it from said. He pretty much let slip that his grandfather stole it while in Rome during the Second World War. And according to the archives, after the fall of Berlin, Torchwood managed to get their hands on several Nazi documents and two other weapons like this. Both of the weapons were discovered in Italy by German archeological teams."

"Any idea why _they_ wanted these things?"Tosh asked, an expression of disgust flashing over her face.

Gwen shrugged. "The file didn't say, so only god knows."

"What I want to know is…Gwen, did you try and arrest this guy?" Owen chimed in.

Gwen wasn't entirely sure if he was being serious or was just trying- and doing a bad job at- lightening the mood.

"_No_. Anyway, the archives mentioned that the wolves on the hilt are linked to a wolf in Roman legend who nursed Romulus and Remus, whoever they are. There was also a mention of them being connected to an 'Asena'."

Which was a name she certainly did know, she thought. Gwen hid the shiver that crawled up her spine and was thankful no one had seen the look on her face when she'd seen the name out of her studies again after so long.

"I did some searching and found that Asena was a big figure in Turkish myths." She continued, ignoring the memories of the other myths she'd learned during in her summers. Those myths were infinitely vaguer. "Something about how she was the mother of their race, or maybe the human race. The info I could find was a bit fuzzy."

"Romulus and Remus were the twins who founded the city of Rome, then founded the Roman Empire." Ianto said quietly, his expression thoughtful.

"Well it is a only myth," Tosh reminded him,"and even if it isn't completely true, who or whatever made these this are probably a threat. I doubt that these weapons are just for stabbing people. It doesn't make sense to go through so much effort to make a medieval weapon that lasts for thousands of years. Not without a reason."

"Well, that is _if_ she and her friends are still on Earth and we're not just chasing ghosts."

"What?"

Reaching out to the dagger, he picked it up. With the air of a magician about to reveal a great secret, he said "There are _three_ wolves on this aren't there?"

Gwen tried not to recoil in shock. Hearing Owen say that brought back something she'd forgotten up to that moment. She could vaguely recall something about two others in the stories, but they'd been dismissed as errors. She'd been taught and told that they were just a mistelling of the old tales.

For the first time since she'd left, Gwen regretted not paying more attention, or keeping some tie to what she'd left behind.

"Perhaps we should try and bring in DESI. They might have an easier time finding out about this." Ianto suggested.

Owen beat everyone to the question.

"What's a DESI?" he asked, placing the dagger back down and looking a bit annoyed.

"They're an American organization," Ianto explained, doing a good job at ignoring Owen's muttered 'oh wonderful', "that's set up with similar goals to us. Torchwood used to have joint projects with them from time to time."

"Why do you think that they'd still want to help us?" Tosh asked.

"Jack's known their Assistant-Director- a woman named Ravenwood- for years." Ianto explained, "I actually met her once or twice when I worked in the archives at Torchwood One.

Gwen wondered if DESI's Assistant-Director might just be her old friend Paula. 'Ravenwood' was hardly a common name. They hadn't spoken since Gwen was sixteen, but maybe she might know something. And even if this woman was not her…

"I think that we should give it a month or so. Try and see what we can find out about this first, then we can try and contact these people," Gwen said. Her fingers curled around the hilt of the knife. A chill engulfed her, as though darkness has fallen over the sun, dropping her into shadow. The feeling of unease swallowed her.

She looked up and saw...there was…_**something**_. A shape. Darkness in a humanish form.

Gwen could hear a sound coming from the figure. While not loud, the distorted sound- a long, drawn-out cry- reached across the familiar noises of Cardiff. Echoing across the ages, it reached back to the time when her ancestors huddled fearfully around their campfires. Watching the dark beyond the light of the fire and knowing, seeing the pin-point glow like the sky at sunset after a heavy rain, that it was looking back at them. And the intent look with which it was now regarding them with, then and now, was not warm.

"Gwen? Hey, Earth to Gwen!"

"What?" Everything was suddenly jerked back to normal. The darkness, the figure…all gone. What the **hell** had that…_**thing**_ been?

Her grip unthinkingly tightened to the dagger, and she realized that she'd never let go of it.

"You alright?" asked another of her co-workers/friends, but Gwen scarcely noticed even as she assured them she was alright. Where her…abilities somehow coming back? That didn't make sense; she'd never seen or experienced anything like that before. It should be impossible but…

Maybe it was just the Rift. Or something. She couldn't tell them, Gwen thought, nodding to something being said. Not until she was sure.

* * *

**Author's note- **

The Turkish legend mentioned in this chapter is somewhat loosely based on actual mythology. Since its ancient mythology, I doubt anyone will mind…but if there is ancient secret society of Turkish assassins out there, please don't kill me, I _swear_ I meant well.

Also, feel free to speculate all you want. You're all wrong. No, no, even you.

Bwahahahaha!

On a final note, happy New Year everyone!


	11. Chapter 11

Ladies and Gentlemen of the internet, hello and well met!

Regrettably I must announce that this story will not be continued. However, I have been planning out a rewrite titled 'Gateways- Maelstrom' which I posted the first chapter of today. The reason behind my actions is rather simple- the plot for the story has grown from what it was initially. And it doesn't seem fair or right for me to simply post the rewrite onto this story.

Those of you who want to continue to follow the story you'll be pleased to hear that I will be uploading the chapters much faster than I did here.

This story will remain posted here for the next month or so.


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